Worldwar: Clash of Empires
by Trevor the Enchanter
Summary: The Conquest Fleet is delayed and WWII continues uninterrupted, but in 1982, astronomers detect strange objects entering our solar system... Currently under revision
1. Chapter 1

March 6, 1982:

For Alexander Cooper, this was far from a typical day at the office.

_Still, this is probably the most exciting thing I've seen in years. _He admitted. Alexander was a 52-year old man and had been working at NASA for fifteen years. His job was to search for planets in other solar systems, although so far, the effort had been a failure.

"Of course, this is an exciting find... not to mention horrifying." He muttered to himself, looking over the latest images from Voyager 2. Alexander had counted numerous objects entering the solar system. Even from such a distance, close to thirty objects had been spotted, leaving him to believe that there were far more the initial reports indicated. "If so many can be seen from 100 million kilometers, how many more will we detect as they get closer to earth?" Nobody else had any idea what these objects were, either.

They were traveling at nearly two hundred kilometers per second, moving far too quickly to be comets are asteroids, not to mention no one had ever seen a group of asteroids in that kind of formation. Whatever the objects were, they were spread out perfectly, almost completely evenly spaced with respect to one another.

Alexander rolled up the current photo and looked over the more recent ones, hoping to see more detail in order to find out just what the hell these things were. These were from Voyager 1. "There are even more here..." He muttered, looking over the photos. The objects were still in formation, but he was also able to see and recognize their shape. They were rectangular, with them narrowing as you approached the tail end.

While not on a direct course to Earth, they were approaching at high speeds, meaning that they could pose a major threat. Not to mention that he'd never seen any objects that behaved this way, but at the same time, couldn't figure out just what they might be.

"I'd better inform my superiors." Alexander said to himself. The objects had been studied for two weeks, but they were no closer to figuring out what they were. "If I didn't know better, I'd say those were alien ships." He laughed briefly to himself. Then all of a sudden, it didn't seem so funny anymore. What if it was actually true?

As unlikely as it sounded, he couldn't dismiss the possibility. It would take more time in order to truly determine what these objects were. _And if I'm right? _Alexander worried. Even though he knew he could end up being a laughingstock, he decided to let his superiors know anyway.

XXXXXXXXXX

March 12, 1982:

_I am not afraid. _Melanie Sullivan told herself repeatedly as she walked home down the streets of Cleveland. This wasn't something that she normally did, but her shift ran a couple of hours longer than normal, because a couple of her co-workers became sick and she was asked to fill in for them.

"Hard to believe this was once a safe place to live." Melanie was still about a mile away from her home in Cleveland, Ohio. The story she heard from her parents was that it used to be a neighborhood where you could let children run wild and free with minimal consequences. She sometimes had a hard time believing it herself.

It was still twilight, which meant that not all the unsavory types were out just yet. Melanie's hand wandered to her pocket, where she secretly kept a switchblade. She prayed she'd never have to use it, and likely wouldn't know how to even if it became necessary, but it gave her a sense of security.

Fortunately for her, however, she had succeeded in getting home without any incidents. Melanie had learned to detect where she could be in for trouble, where to walk and what parts of the neighborhood to avoid at night. She walked into her apartment and locked the door, spotting a baseball bat on the corner.

"Are you sure that's necessary?" Melanie asked, picking it up and setting it back in the closet. While she was done with her workweek, he had more erratic hours and was going back tomorrow.

"I'd rather be prepared, just in case." He said from his chair. "You've got all kinds of drug addicts and weirdos around here." He winced as he got up from his chair to pour himself a glass of water.

Even though Thomas was the older sibling, Melanie felt like she was often the only one in charge. She knew it was kind of an unusual arrangement; out of all her friends, she was the only one who was actually roommates with her brother. More than once, the two had been mistaken for a married couple. Still, he didn't have anyone to stay with, and neither of them could afford to live on their own just now; not and save for college at the same time.

"So how was your day?" Thomas asked.

"About the same as always; all right, but had a few difficult customers to deal with." Melanie responded. Now that she was home, she felt safer.

"Sounds typical; lasted a lot longer than I did at that place." Thomas admitted. While highly intelligent, her brother wasn't good with people. He previously had a job as a cashier, but only lasted two weeks because his manager didn't think he was smiling enough and fired him. "Still, suppose it worked out all right. Job I have now is more pleasant, even if I do come home half-dead every night." Currently, he was loading and unloading trucks for a distribution center. "Money's not bad, either. Year or so, I'll have enough money to go to college. Oh, and there was something else I found interesting."

"What is it?" Melanie inquired. She wished he'd simply get to the point.

"I ran into Sam Yeager during lunch." Thomas stated.

"Our old high-school coach?" Melanie's eyes widened. Out of all their coaches, he had been probably the only one her brother actually liked. She had her share of hard-asses, but he had been a decent man, always encouraging even though Thomas had no athletic ability at all and her own was average. Despite that, he encouraged her to try out for the basketball team.

"The one and only." Thomas gave a rare genuine smile. "He's doing pretty good for a man of seventy-five. Apparently he's still coaching and boring high school students with all his stories about when he played in the minors."

"Hasn't changed a bit, has he?" Melanie chuckled."So what do we have for dinner?" Her stomach was beginning to growl.

"I already ate; it's up to you." Thomas shrugged. Her parents always insisted they eat dinner together, but the instant he moved out on his own, that came to an end. Not that she was especially surprised; when he was a kid, the entire discussion was centered around him eating food. He only ate about a dozen different foods, perhaps even less. With stuff he didn't like... he was known to end up vomiting afterwards. No one could explain just what was wrong with him. He'd been to numerous doctors, who were just as stumped as their parents were.

"All right, then." Melanie was too tired to argue at the moment. She was tired and would likely go to sleep quite soon, so she decided on something quick. She searched the kitchen for something edible, and found that her brother had bought another 5 jugs of water. "You've got like, 20 of those already! Why can't you just drink from the tap like everyone else?"

"By the way, I heard some bad news." Thomas winced and looked like he was dreading whatever he was about to say.

_Whatever is it, it can't be good. _Melanie thought. "Go on," she gestured.

"You remember Fred?" Thomas asked. How could she not? He was best friends with both of them back when they were kids. Melanie even went out with him for a short period of time, but decided that the whole thing was too weird and broke it off. "Well, I just got some news about him. I just found out that he's dead."

Horror filled her veins. That wasn't possible! Fred was one of the toughest people she knew! How could this have happened?! "What... what happened?" Melanie asked, wanting to know but at the same time dreading his answer.

"From what I read in the paper, it was a drug deal gone bad; he died at the hospital about an hour later." Thomas sighed, while his sister was infuriated that he didn't seem that upset about it.

Suddenly, Melanie didn't feel so tired anymore. Tears begin to streak down her eyes. She had lost contact with him over the years, seeing him less and less due to his lifestyle that she once shared, even if she did not delve into it so deeply. If you looked carefully, there were still a couple of needle scars on her left arm. "Like, how the fuck could that have happened?" Melanie screamed, feeling the urge to pull her hair out by the roots. "Shit, I know all the crazy shit he got into, but... goddamn it, dude!"

"He was smart, more so than most people gave him credit for." Thomas admitted. "Could have been much more, but I suppose it's not all that surprising."

"Can't you show any consideration at all?!" Melanie screamed at him. He sounded almost bored giving the news, his eyes completely emotionless. "He's fucking dead! Don't you give a damn about that?"

"Yes, but I've had time to prepare myself for the possibility." Thomas responded, still in a monotone. "Crime's at record levels, he uses... well, used heroin and drank on an almost daily basis; not exactly the sort of lifestyle that leads to happy endings."

"I just wish he hadn't disappeared on us." Melanie stopped crying, but still felt empty inside. She stared off into space, cursing God, fate, or whatever reason he was shot dead. A large part of her wanted to strangle her brother for sounding so uncaring about him.

"So do I, Melanie." Thomas got up from his chair. "I'm going to go for a brief walk. I should be back in around half an hour or so."

"It's getting dark; you sure that's a good idea?" Melanie asked with some concern. Even though he had a lot of physical strength, he wasn't a fighter; he didn't have the will for it. He had already been mugged a few months ago as well, and had refused to leave his apartment alone for a week after that.

"No, but all I know is, I've got to do something or I'm going to end up going crazy." Thomas admitted. He grabbed a mag-light, both for visibility and protection and walked out the door, leaving Melanie to her own devices.

_Gee, it's not like you could stay here and I don't know, talk to me! _Melanie snarled to herself, but her anger quickly disappeared. Each of them had their own ways of coping with tragedy. Thomas often kept himself busy so he wouldn't think about it, a habit he had picked up from their father. She'd speak to him later, once they had calmed down a bit.

More tears were shed soon afterwards, but Melanie began to feel better after that. It wasn't as if this was completely out of the blue; Thomas was right about that much. Even so, she didn't want to think about it, hoping he would be able to get out of that life the way she had a couple years ago. Still, considering what his home life was like... he'd never been given a chance to show his potential. For all her parents' faults, they loved them both and looked out for them as best they could, even if they didn't understand certain aspects of them. Many people she knew weren't so lucky.

She began to feel her exhaustion returning, and her eyelids were drooping. Melanie walked to the phone and decided to inform her parents. Even though she was now 21 years old, she still wished she was able to hear from them more often. Hell, part of her wished that she'd went with them. Two years ago, they had moved to South Carolina. Her father received a major job opportunity from Boeing and decided to take the offer, moving to Charleston. He offered herself and her brother a chance to come with him, but the siblings decided to stay in the city they'd known their entire life. On occasion, she thought she'd made a mistake.

After eight rings, it went to their answering machine. "Perfect, just perfect." Melanie muttered to herself. Hopefully, they could at least return her call in a reasonable amount of time. She left a brief message detailing what had happened and promised to call back whenever she received any more information. She slammed the phone down, rubbing her eyes.

She briefly considered waiting for her brother to return, but decided not to. The television was still on, with anchors discussing Reagan's speech in Berlin. Thomas was much more into politics than she was, but she was no less scared of the prospect of the world ending.

_Fred's been murdered, crime continues to skyrocket, and Cold War tensions are higher than ever. _Melanie groaned. _Is there any possible way for things to get worse? _was her last coherent thought before she fell asleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

March 18, 1982:

Currently, Atvar was the only shiplord who was awakened from cold sleep, and as the fleetlord, it was his responsibility to make sure the final part of the journey went smoothly. Not that he particularly expected anything to go wrong, but it was vital that every possible scenario be planned for. No male of the Race would expect anything unless.

Out of his eye turrets, he could see their fleet passing Tosev 6. As for Tosev 3, it was also barely visible from his bare eye turret at such distance, but they would be there soon, approximately 4/10ths of a year. Little did the natives know that 500 ships carrying 25 million Males of the Race were headed their way. He was hoping to get there faster, but their starships hit far more space dust than they did in the fast gulfs between stars; Atvar played it safe.

He activated the hologram of Tosev 3, even though there was currently no one but himself to view it. Some of the ship's physicians had also been brought out of cold sleep, but they were busy reviving the highest ranking Shiplords. No, for now, the spectacle was his to view and his alone. After spending 104 years in Cold Sleep, being up and about again was a considerable accomplishment. There were limits to Cold Sleep technology and going under for more than one hundred years was considered a risky endeavor.

However, for the honor of being fleetlord, he was willing to accept the possible consequences, something that he knew made him something of a risk-taker among the Race. The initial plan was to send their fleet eighty years previously, but the budget-cutters decided to delay the invasion for another generation. After all, what difference would it make?

"What difference indeed..." Atvar muttered. He replaced the hologram of Tosev 3 with an image of one of the natives their probe had taken 1,680 years ago. The native wore a metal suit of armor, sitting on top of a horse that looked far too weak to be carrying such a heavy burden. This is what they found the best of Tosevite technology to be at the current time period.

He heard footsteps coming from behind him. One of his eye turrets swung his way and recognized him as his second in command, Kirel. "I greet you, exalted fleetlord." He bent into the traditional posture of respect. Kirel looked considerably older than when he found him last. Unlike himself, Kirel had simply chosen to wait the ninety years until the conquest was to be undertaken before going into Cold Sleep. Biologically, he was older than Atvar.

"I greet you, Kirel." Atvar stated. "Were you awoken just now?"

"I was, exalted fleetlord, and I wished to see the planet we are about to conquer." Kirel declared. "It hardly looks habitable, does it?"

Atvar had a lot of difficulty arguing with him. While Tosev was far brighter than the sun that Home orbited around, it was also a far greater distance away from its parent star. Parts of it were pleasant enough, but it was covered in water, 70.2% of the land's surface, according to the probe they sent, about ten times the covering there was on Home. Even that was not including the massive ice sheets at the North and South Poles; ice was a rare phenomenon outside laboratory conditions on Home. On Tosev 3, however, it was very different. "From a distance, yes, but we will be capable of living on it; some parts of it are quite pleasant.. The natives will also give us no difficulty."

"If only our conquest went as scheduled." Kirel admitted. He was nearing 180 years old and was beginning to feel the years. "A small matter, admittedly."

"Yes, but it makes little difference in the long run." Atvar informed.

"As you say, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel agreed. "Straha should be waking shortly."

That was an event Atvar would have been happy to delay. Indefinitely, if possible. For a short time, it appeared that Straha would be given ultimate command of the Conquest Fleet, only the Emperor had given the position to him, leaving Straha third in command. Personally, he felt Straha should have been grateful to be given such importance, but instead, he responded only with resentment.

An alarm shook them out of their thoughts. Atvar's eye turrets swiveled, his fingerclaws typing on the computer in order to determine what their sensors had detected. At the speed they were currently traveling, even an impact with a small object could prove fatal to everyone in the unfortunate ship it collided into. He relaxed somewhat when it was discovered that whatever it was happened to be 1.2 million kilometers away from the closest ship.

He continued to type, wanting to know just what the computer had detected. A meteor? Most likely. There were few objects larger than pebbles in their own solar system, although the Rabotev system's belt was quite extensive. Tosev 3, though, had countless massive asteroids, which sometimes made Atvar wonder how anything lived there.

"That... does not look like any meteor I have been, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel said slowly, still trying to take in what was on the hologram.

"No, it does not." Atvar agreed. If he didn't know better, he would assume that what he was seeing on the screen was a probe. He enhanced it as much as he could; it's composition was metallic, without any sort of rock at all. There was also something coming from it. "Radio signals! Impossible!"

"Is it one of our probes left over from the initial scan?" Kirel suggested. "It seems the most likely probability."

Atvar did further scans on the probe, not an easy feat with its considerable distance, which was growing by the second. After a couple minutes, he made the negative hand gesture. "Too small, too slow, too primitive to be anything of our design." He eventually concluded. "Yet if it is not ours, whose could it be?" He considered it highly unlikely- no, impossible- that the Tosevites could have built a space probe. 1,680 years ago, they were a backward, pre-industrial civilization. How could they possibly have advanced so quickly?

"It is far too small and slow to travel interstellar distances." Kirel stated. "Forgive me for saying so, Exalted Fleetlord, but... I believe that this is a Tosevite probe. It defies everything we know, yes, but it is the only possibility I can currently fathom."

"Impossible, simply impossible." Atvar made the negative hand gesture. As he continued to look at the hologram, however, he was slowly coming to the conclusion that Kirel was right. _What does this mean for us? _Atvar thought. Suddenly, he wished that all he had to worry about on the conquest was Straha's abrasiveness.

He hurried to the physicians who were in the final stages of waking Straha. "Wake the other shiplords; wake them now." Atvar order. It was a year-tenth ahead of schedule, but under the circumstances, he considered it appropriate.

XXXXXXXXXX

Well, let me know what you think. This is my first worldwar fanfiction, and I'm attempting to keep as much of the feel of the Worldwar series as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

April 3, 1982

Of all the places he never expected to be, the Pentagon was high on Andrei Taktarov's list. The Americans had called for an emergency meeting with several senior members of the Red Army. Even Brezhnev himself was currently in a private meeting with Reagan for reasons that had not yet made themselves known.

The first conclusion that came to mind was that the Cold War was about to go hot, a concept that filled Andrei's mind with dread. However much he despised the capitalists and their decadent ways, he did not want a nuclear war particularly since it would bring ruin to the Soviet Union as well.

He was receiving strange looks ever since he arrived with his interpreter and not all of them were due to being from the Soviet Union. Andrei had been a cripple for most of his life, despite numerous medical procedures he had undergone. At twenty years of age, he had been conscripted into the Red Army in a desperate attempt to halt the Hitlerite invasion. He remembered most of his time digging trenches, little more than glorified foxholes, but that was often all they had time for.

He was captured in 1942, during the German's efforts to capture the Caucasus region, and spent three years in a death camp being worked nearly to death. When he was finally liberated, his reward for his service of the Soviet Union was another eight years in the gulag. The combined experiences very nearly claimed his life, and left him a cripple. He could walk, with a cane, but only with great difficulty and short spans of time.

Even so, he kept his displeasure to himself. Andrei still had a job to do, and he had to admit to himself, he was curious as to why he was here. He looked over at his translator, who was remaining silent. He had many questions of his superiors, but wisely chose to keep his mouth shut. Not that Andrei could have answered many of them even if he had the inclination to.

As the walk went on, he was in increasing pain, but refused to show any kind of weakness. Andrei kept a close eye on the construction of the Pentagon, even though he knew it was likely that the Americans were keeping his entourage for seeing anything they didn't want exposed. _The effort is still worth making. _Andrei told himself.

When he finally got to his destination, even Andrei was not able to suppress a small sigh of relief when he sat down. He was one of half a dozen generals invited to this meeting, sitting alongside a dozen American generals and admirals. In the center of the room was their Secretary of Defense, Caspar Weinberger. He was relatively new to his job and as much, Andrei was unsure about how competent he was. Even so, he had no difficulty reading the contempt on Weinberger's face.

_Sneer all you like, _Andrei thought. _One day, your nation too will learn the benefits of socialism. _The Americans had an oppressed population that was rife for revolution and indeed, the Soviet Union had been discretely encouraging it. Apart from a few, they had no luck so far, but elements within the Politburo were quite determined.

His face stood at attention when it was evident that they were about to inform them about the reason they had been requested here. They began with a powerpoint presentation and enlarged pictures on a whiteboard. _Why are they showing us pictures of an asteroid? _Soviet astronomers had detecting the same event, but reassured the Politburo that Earth was in no danger, although questions about the unusual speed continued.

Weinberger began to speak as the first of the images were being shown. Andrei's eyes widened in surprise. There was not a single object, there were dozens of them! "These photos were taken from Voyager 1 and Voyager 2." Weinberger explained. "As you can see, they do not resemble any celestial body in either shape or form." Andrei didn't need to be told what he could already see with his own eyes. Asteroids and comets were spherical, oval shaped, or looked lumpy, like a potato. These images were perfect rectangles, almost too perfect to be believed.

_What in the world is going on? _Andrei inquired, and studied the faces in the room. Most of his own comrades were asking themselves the same, while the Americans he spotted a mixture of fear and skepticism. He had already counted dozens and from such astronomical distances, he had no doubt that these were only a small fraction of the total.

The presentation continued, going through dozens of photos while every detail was explained. Radio signals determined their distance to be approximately 1.3 billion kilometers away, between the orbits of Jupiter and Saturn. In chronological order, they revealed that as they came closer to Earth, more and more of these strange objects had been discovered.

"So far, the number stands at seventy-three; the true number of these unidentified objects is likely be between a few hundred and a few thousand." Weinburger explained. "More details will be forwarded as they get closer to Earth." Weinburger sat down and a four-star general took his place. Andrei did not recognize him, but studied his every move. After a moment, he realized that it was Andrew Marshall, considered one of the best strategists in the world.

"After extensive debate and study, we have finally come to a conclusion." He announced. "We believe that these objects are extraterrestrial in origin. As of now, we have not discovered where they came from. However, we have determined that these objects are metallic. Titanium appears to be a main component, along with assorted other metals that we have yet to identify."

He took a deep breath and after a moment's hesitation declared: "We believe these are extraterrestrial ships and are heading for Earth. While not everyone agrees, enough have come to the conclusion that preparations have to be made. Which is why you are here, gentlemen." It irked every member of the Soviet side, which Andrei suspected was intentional.

His initial response was skepticism and one of the other Soviet generals outright accused the Americans of attempting to manipulate them. "We have plenty of evidence, which I'm sure your astronomers can confirm." Marshall continued. "Our first is that initial reports believed that they would bypass earth, but as you can see through these photos, they have changed course, indicating human intelligence."If these were fakes, they were very convincing ones. He'd have to check with his own government to make sure, but Andrei was beginning to believe they were telling the truth.

"Second is that they appear to have... slowed down. Not to a great degree, but enough that we have detected it."

Andrei spoke up for the first time through his interpreter. He could speak passable English, but it was best that they didn't know that. "If this is true- I am still skeptical- but assuming you are correct, how much time do we have to prepare?"

"Currently, they are approximately nine hundred million miles from earth." Marshall declared. "Operating on their current speed and the fact that they will have to slow down at some point if they wish to invade... two to three months before they arrive."

There were audible gulps all around the room. Two to three months? It would take at least a year, probably more, to fully transition to a war-time economy. Andrei knew his country was barely able to maintain the military they currently had; the structural problems in the Soviet Union were getting worse by the day, even if nobody wanted to admit it.

The meeting went on for another hour, but nobody else said anything new. Each side promised to meet again in order to coordinate defense plans and prepare for the inevitable. Andrei was running scenarios through his head about how best to defeat their unwanted visitors, however many of them there were. Even so, there was a small part of him that still hoped that this was nothing more than a hoax.

Those hopes were dashed when reports from the embassy stated that Soviet astronomers had discovered that the objects had changed course and were now headed directly for Earth. Andrei knew little about astronomy, but his knowledge was enough to know asteroids and comets did not spontaneously change course. Another race was coming, and based on the size of their fleet, it was almost certainly an invasion force.

There was one more concern: could the Americans be trusted, even in the face of an alien invasion? Andrei knew the possibility that they could betray them the instant the war was over, perhaps even before it. Even so, they had allied against Germany under the same circumstances. _Let's hope this doesn't prove too much for us to overcome._

XXXXXXXXXX

April 8, 1982

An ordinary day at work for Melanie at Macy's was standing at the register, scanning whatever her customers bought, while trying to deal with their difficulties as best she could. While irritating at times, it wasn't too difficult for her, being that she could always plaster a smile on her face, even if she was feeling miserable inside.

This was far from a typical day at work. Just about everyone was talking about what was going on, about every other customers was asking her opinion about what was going to happen, and most of the employees were so worried that they had trouble doing their jobs. She was somewhat impaired herself, and while normally her manager would chew her out, today he seemed to be completely out of it.

"So you really think it's going to happen?" she was asked for what seemed the hundredth time that day. Why did they think she knew anything about it? Nonetheless, she knew she had to provide an answer.

"I certainly hope not, sir." Melanie replied. "Is that everything you need?" The old woman nodded an affirmative and hurried out the store.

And really, Melanie couldn't blame all of them with the recent news. The draft had been reinstituted and the nation had gone to DEFCON 2, which made many believe that the Cold War was about to go hot. Just outside the store, she could hear vague noises of a crowd protesting the draft. At least they weren't causing riots here, the way they were in some parts of the city.

_How the hell could this have happened? _Melanie wondered. Most figured that one day, the world would end in nuclear fire, but to see the event so imminent chilled her to the bone. Cleveland was a major city and would almost certainly be a target. She'd gone through all the nuclear safety drills as a kid and read what she could on it, but none of that would make much difference if a nuclear bomb exploded on top of them.

She thought about evacuating the city, but what point would there be? They could barely support themselves now, much less being able to do so without employment. And while Cleveland was a certain target, it was impossible to know where it would be safe and where it wouldn't. Could they survive in the wild? Quite unlikely, as neither she nor her brother ever had any wilderness training.

"Ma'am, can you please pay attention?" Her latest customer asked. He looked even younger than she was. If she had to judge, he couldn't be a day over 16.

"Sorry about that; have a lot of my mind." Melanie apologized and scanned his items. "And did you find everything you were looking for?"

"Yes, thank you." He responded. "And don't worry about it; impending Armageddon's got us all scared." Melanie could only nod in agreement. She hated feeling powerless to do anything about her fate. She was always a fighter and faced her problems head on, but whether she lived or died depended on events that were completely out of her control.

Fortunately, her customer load was much lighter compared to most days, which meant her mistakes weren't too severe. Melanie bet anything that survival stores around the city were packed with frantic people trying to survive what they saw as the inevitable. She held out some hope that they might yet be able to resolve the crisis. Her parents told her about the Cuban Missile Crisis 20 years before, where everyone feared the worst, yet each side managed to resolve the crisis. She only hoped that they would be able to do so again.

Her boss let her off work an hour early. Things were relatively quiet and Melanie clearly wasn't up to working at her full potential. She apologized multiple times to her boss, who merely shrugged and said he understood. _Glad to know there are some decent people left in the world. _Melanie thought. Her last two bosses had been complete assholes, one of whom was even reluctant to give her time off to attend her Grandfather's funeral.

On the bus ride home, she saw multiple protest groups, all screaming at the top of her lungs. Signs were abundant, though Melanie didn't bother to read them; she had an inkling as to what they said. "Probably the same kind of signs they had in Vietnam." Melanie muttered. Many of them looked old enough to have participated in the protests. Police officers were watching the larger ones, just in case things got too out of hand.

As concerned as she was that they might turn violent, part of Melanie wanted to join them. She dreaded the prospect of war as much as anyone else and with the draft reinstituted, worried that her friends and her brother would end up being drafted and forced to fight against the Soviet Union.

The instant she got home, she spotted Thomas on the phone talking with who could only be their mother. "No, Mom, we're perfectly fine." Thomas reassured. "We're nowhere near the riots right now. Melanie should be home in about... never mind, she just walked through the door. Do you wish to talk to her?" He handed the phone to Melanie.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Melanie, thank god, I've been so worried." her mother Emily took a deep breath. "Are you guys all right? I read in the newspaper that Cleveland had riots everywhere."

"We're fine, mom; I haven't seen anything like that." Melanie tried to reassure. She wanted to downplay the severity of the situation, because otherwise, her parents would spend their entire day worrying. "I just got home from work. How are you?"

"I heard about all the riots in Cleveland and I had to make sure you two were ok." Emily responded. "They say they've had stabbing, shootings, even deaths, and I know you guys live in a rough neighborhood."

That was just a typical day in Cleveland. As kids, they lived in a low-crime neighborhood and were somewhat sheltered from the grim reality of what it was like in large parts of the city. As adults, they couldn't afford to live there once their parents moved. Melanie decided not to mention that to her, as tempting as it was. "Look, Mom, we're fine."

"The rioting has been in downtown and on the East Side, some distance away from us." Thomas pointed out. She momentarily forgot how good his hearing was. "The count stands at 8 deaths, and thirty hospitalized." Melanie resisted the urge to slap her forehead. That was just going to make things even worse.

"Well, I'm glad you guys are ok, but be careful out there, all right?" Emily all but pleaded. "I don't want to hear that something's happened to you guys."

"We can take care of ourselves, Mom." Melanie promised. Or more accurately, she could. While her brother had a level of intelligence she could never hope to match, he was almost incapable of standing up for himself. School was the most miserable time of his live, a time that still affected him, even despite her efforts to defend him. "We'll stay indoors and not take any unnecessary chances. Where's Dad?"

"He's at one of the protest groups right now." Emily declared. "I was about to join him, but I wanted to make sure the two of you were ok. Damn Reagan; I knew his Arms Race was going to cause trouble. No one is drafting my kid! I don't care what that son of a bitch says!"

"Thanks, Mom." Melanie responded politely. A political debate was the last thing she needed right now. Her parents had met and fallen in love at a Vietnam protest rally. To her, it seemed like part of it was an effort to recapture their youth, even though there was legitimate concern as well. "Are you guys all right?" She didn't know much about what it was like in Charleston. Their parents always visited them on special occasions, instead of the other way around.

"We've got plenty of protests against the draft, but nothing violent so far." Emily stated. "As long as we don't have any feds trying to make us appear violent to discredit us, we should be fine."

"Well, I hope you can bring about a peaceful solution." Melanie told her. In fact, she didn't care who did, so long as they somehow managed to resolve whatever provoked the latest crisis. Things flared up every couple of years or so.

"Sweetie, maybe you and your brother should leave the city; Cleveland is certainly going to be a target if things get hot." Emily suggested.

"I would if I could, Mom." Melanie replied. She was feeling like a trapped rat, and knew that some of her co-workers were thinking about it as well. "What have you been doing to prepare?'

"We've got a small civil defense bunker with enough food to last about 3 weeks and I've been discretely buying more." Emily informed. "I'm a lot more worried about you guys. Cleveland is likelier to be hit. Have you been stocking up on food?"

"I know; I've been doing my best not to think about it." Melanie's best hadn't been very good. If she was lucky, she could push it out of her mind for about... ten minutes. "We'll just have to wait and see what happens. I hate thinking that way, but there's nothing we can do to change things."

"I'll be praying for both of you." Emily informed. "I love you, Melanie. I'll speak with you later."

"I love you too, Mom." Melanie hung up and took a deep breath, trying to hide her annoyance. Honestly, it was like her parents lived in a dream world at time. They were used to having money, used to living in a decent neighborhood, and couldn't comprehend that not everyone could prepare for disaster in the same way.

Even so... they did mean well, something she had to remember. She considered her options, wondering yet again if it was possible to get out of the city. "What are we going to do?" Melanie asked herself, only realizing after the fact that she spoke out loud.

"That all depends on whether or not this explodes into nuclear war." Thomas stated. "If a bomb explodes on top of us, no. We don't have any kind of fallout shelter, and evacuating would be impossible being that everyone in the city would be trying to get out. If anything happens, the subway would be the best thing we could come up with. Concrete is a surprisingly effective shield against radiation. A group of people only 300 meters away from Ground Zero survived because they were holed up in a bank. Then of course we have food and water to deal with."

"Yeah, thanks a lot." Melanie sighed. Essentially, they were screwed if anything happened. Not that she wasn't aware of it already, but she still hated having it pointed out to her. _Course, I never thought his compulsion to only drink bottled water, no matter what, would ever come in handy. _She thought. It meant they'd have a couple weeks worth, assuming they weren't vaporized.

"Even so, we should probably stock up on food." Thomas admitted. "At least, if we can. People are emptying every store in the city right now, I'd bet. We're got enough to last about three days before we have to fight our way through the supermarket."

Melanie opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, a series of gunshots interrupted her. She immediately hit the floor, about to yell to her brother to get down, only to see that he already had. Judging from the noise, that was close by, maybe a couple hundred feet. Their neighborhood wasn't as bad as some, but they did hear gunshots on occasion and with the political crisis, she knew some people wouldn't care what the consequences were tomorrow.

The shots ended but it was several minutes before she dared to venture from the floor. "Baseball bat's not going to do much good against that." Thomas stated, pushing himself up with a groan. "They'd have a bit of a range advantage. You all right?"

"I'm fine." Melanie informed. "Not like we've never heard gunshots before." _Although not this close, _she added to herself and wished she hadn't. She wondered how Fred lived in such a lifestyle, and a new pang of depression hit her in waves at the thought of him.

"Probably should have pulled you behind me, but I didn't think of it." Thomas admitted. "I'm not brave, never have been."

"Still... I think we've got a real problem."

XXXXXXXXXX

April 13, 1982: (934 million miles from Earth)

"We have a problem, Shiplords." Atvar pronounced, not for the first time. The other shiplords had been woken early and were currently on video chat. "The Tosevites are considerably more advanced than our probe would have led us to believe."

"That would be a dramatic understatement." Straha said acidly. "I assume the exalted fleetlord has a plan." What was meant to be an honorific sounded like an insult through his mouth.

He decided to pretend he hadn't noticed it. "Shiplords, we have received radio signals from what can only be Tosev 3. This provides considerable difficulties for us. Still, I have every confidence that we will prevail."

"How exact is our knowledge about the technological capabilities of the Tosevites?" Kirel inquired.

"Due to our distance from Tosev, that knowledge is currently limited." Atvar was forced to admit. "However, most of the signals we received come from the Northern Hemisphere, indicating that the level of technology is not uniform across the planet. This tells us where the natives will give us the greatest resistance."

"But they are still behind us!" one of the shiplords protested. "Even if they have advanced so quickly, we should still be able to defeat them!"

"We are overlooking the fact that if their technology has grown, so has their population!" Another pointed out. "We believed their population at the time the probe was sent to be three hundred million! How many are there now?"

Atvar nearly winced; the shiplord- Trssek was his name- had a valid point. If their population was the same, the Race would be able to overcome them, increased technology or not. However, with advances in Medicine, that was unlikely to be the case. "Our scans have not been able to come up with a reliable estimate." Kirel admitted. "We will know more details as we move closer to the planet."

"If I may make a suggestion, then..." Straha stood up to make himself more prominent among the others, even if they were not communicating in person. "I recommend that we change our initial invasion plans."

The first response from Atvar was horror. Deviating from any carefully constructed plan, like the one for the invasion of Tosev 3, was anathema to the Race. Under the circumstances, however, he was forced to at least hear him out. "And what do you suggest, Shiplord?" Atvar asked sarcastically. "Do keep in mind that the plans were mapped out and solidified for ten years before the conquest fleet left."

"That was when we believed the Tosevites sword-swinging savages." Straha all but smirked. "They have managed to send satellites, however primitive, from Tosev and through their Solar System. It would be addled not to prepare for industrialized warfare. Kirel managed that some areas of the planet are more technologically advanced than others. I suggest that instead of evenly distributing our forces, priority is given to the advanced empires of Tosev 3. Take them out first and we can win this war."

"We will have limited time to scan their defenses." Kirel reminded. "They will notice our arrival once we enter their orbit." Once they had arrived, it would be another year (half of Tosev 3's revolutions) before the attack actually began, while they looked for the best spots for invasion and continued study of the natives. They did not have any such luxuries now.

Atvar stayed silent for a minute. Much as he wanted to dismiss his rival's words, Straha did make a valid argument. If the technology spread was uneven, it made logical sense to take out the most advanced empires first. "That may work in principle, although a proper rebalancing of our forces will have to be carried out." That was as much as he was willing to give him.

"And if necessary, we can destroy their forces with explosive-metal bombs." Straha added. "We have seen no evidence that they possess similar weapons."

"The planet must be kept intact for the Colonization Fleet." Atvar refused. Not that their current supply would be anywhere near enough to destroy it, far from it, but it would poison many areas from some time. Even so, it wasn't just Tosev 3 that they wanted. The Tosevite's solar system had far more resources than any of the Empire's three worlds, including Tosev 5 and Tosev 6, which could offer an almost unlimited supply of fuel for their starships. "The emperor has ordered us to conquer Tosev 3 and it shall be done." They lowered their heads at the mention of the Emperor.

XXXXXXXXXX

I should have the next one up in a few days. There were a few interesting scientific articles I ran into, stating that the first planet we find that can support life is more likely to be a desert planet than one like Earth. In other words, resembling the Race's home world.


	3. Chapter 3

May 4, 1982:

Andrei rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to stay awake. He had not slept in close to forty-eight hours and only prodigious amounts of coffee and military discipline kept him from succumbing to dreams. He wasn't the only one, far from it.

Ever since it had been confirmed that aliens were on a direct course to Earth, the Soviet Union had been preparing with every resource available. Not that it was an easy feat, with the structure looking more fragile by the day, but none of them knew what their enemy's capabilities were. Nor was there any consideration that this was a peaceful missions. _If this was peaceful exploration, they wouldn't be sending hundreds of ships. _Andrei scoffed to himself.

One thing they did have, though, was bodies. Lots and lots of bodies. They were conscripting as many able-bodied men as they could in preparation for what was about to come. They gave them whatever training they had but they did not have the luxury of time, meaning that many of the men they were calling up were likely going to die. Close to 700,000 men had been called up for service within the past month, a pace not seen since the Great Patriotic War.

_Sad, but necessary. _They fought the early stages of the Great Patriotic War under the same circumstances. If you could carry a gun, you were a soldier, regardless of how unqualified you might be considered in peacetime. He himself became a partisan when his town was overrun and every other member of his family slaughtered. "Prayed we'd never go through that again," Andrei sighed to himself before remembering that he was calling out to a God that he technically wasn't supposed to believe in.

In fact, they were using it to prepare their overall strategy to make sure that the Soviet Union survived. Not that most soldiers actually knew they were facing an alien threat. Most assumed that they were mobilizing to fight NATO; Andrei was one of the very few people of his rank to know the truth. In preparation for nuclear war, the military was spread out throughout the country in order to minimize how many of them a thermonuclear bomb would be able to kill at once. Of course, the aliens might have even deadlier weapons.

War plans were also complicated in the fact that nobody knew just where the aliens were going to land, what part of the country would be considered ideal for them. Andrei expected that they would land in great force in numerous locations, likely positioned so that they could link up with one another and conquer the Soviet Union one section at a time. _Which means they will likely be able to destroy our divisions piecemeal. _Andrei realized. _Nichevo. _It was a risk they would have to take. If they placed too many soldiers at any individual part of the nation, it would hinder their redeployment if the aliens landed elsewhere.

The latest reports from both the Americans and their own astronomers indicated that the fleet was currently passing Mars, meaning that they were running out of time. However, they were all but in a wartime economy. Against the Americans and their current buildup, it was on course to bankrupting the Soviet Union. Against their unwanted visitors, it was a major advantage.

He decided to see if he could get some sleep. Andrei knew he would do his country little service if he was too exhausted to think coherently. His body shut down the instant his head hit the pillow.

It seemed as if he had barely slept at all when his adjutant, Mikhail Bendlin, woke him, informing him that there was a meeting he was ordered to attend to. Because he was expecting it, Andrei let his screams die in the back of his throat. A stiff glare was more than sufficient. "I apologize, general, but my orders..."

"Never mind; tell them I will be there promptly." Andrei ordered, and Bendlin ran off to obey. His body was weak, but sheer willpower had been enough to advance in the Red Army to where he was today.

In order to hasten his trip, he swallowed his pride and took his wheelchair. Their current predicament was far more important than any pride he might have had. Even so, it took him longer than he would have liked.

He found himself to be among the first Soviets there. In spite of everything the Soviet Union had done, in spite of how urgently they had to prepare for extraterrestrial invasion, some of them simply could not take the idea of precise time seriously. He let out a small sigh and observed that the generals, admirals, and diplomats that had arrived were feeling similar irritation. Most of the European officials had arrived as well.

Gradually, the others showed up, not even being aware that there was a problem. Getting down to business may have been a capitalist phrase, but it felt appropriate.

"So let us be frank, gentlemen: how do we defeat the alien menace?" British General Andrew Maddox asked, getting right to the point. "We're running out of time."

"I believe we're going to have to tell the public the truth eventually." Tristan White pointed out, a representative from Canada. "Our efforts at recruiting soldiers for defense has gone... less than stellar." Andrei had heard the reports of riots and protests all throughout NATO against conscription.

"No doubt they believe the Cold War's about to go hot." Henry Lloyd nodded. He was a relatively new general in the U.S. and as such, the Soviet Union's information about him was limited. "Not an entirely unreasonable assumption, but if we tell them the truth, we'll have less trouble with recruitment."

Even the Soviets were having trouble with it. They had suppressed all riots and all major cities were under Martial Law, but even so, protests continued. Andrei's first response was to advise suppressing it, believing that news of an imminent invasion would cause a panic, doing almost as much damage as the aliens themselves.

"I believe that may be necessary." A diplomat from France nodded. "They've gotten close enough to where even amateur astronomers are beginning to detect them. We're going to need every advantage possible to defeat them."

"In that case, why are you abandoning us?" Arturo Vercetti of Italy demanded of the Americans. "We are in an alliance, just in case you've forgotten." Andrei had read those reports and looked at the general with barely concealed scorn. They had 400,000 troops in Europe and were in the process of withdrawing some of them, although they couldn't remove them all even if we wanted to.

"We need more in order to defend our own homeland, being that our recruitment efforts have not gone as smoothly as we hoped." Benjanim Cox, the American's most senior diplomat pointed out. "Moreover, we are still keeping troops in your country, and providing your forces with technical assistance."

"How many of them can we expect to be fighting?" Maddox asked them. "All this talk about strategy is grand, but if we don't know how many there are, it's not going to mean much."

"At their current position, we've detected close to 1,000 ships from our observatories and the telescope we launched into High Earth Orbit two weeks ago." Lloyd informed. "Their ships are approximately 6/10ths of a kilometer in diameter and based on their dimensions... probably between 15 and 35 million extraterrestrials."

Gasps and looks of horror filled the room. Between 15 and 35 million? Even at full wartime mobilization, it would take a couple of years to recruit that many soldiers. And they only had slightly more than a month to prepare before they arrived. Doubt about their ability to successfully resist began to surface.

Only the Soviets stayed calm. "This is not the news we wanted, but are you really going to give up so easily?" Andrei asked them. "Are you going to let your country, your people, the human race be subjugated simply because you are afraid? No shots have been fired as of yet, and half of you look like you're ready to surrender! The Soviet Union is ready to fight, despite the odds against us. What does that say about the rest of you?!" With their attitude, they would have lost the Great Patriotic War.

"I believe... he is correct." White admitted. "The situation is not optimal, to put it mildly, but we have faced overwhelming odds before and triumphed. We can do so again."

"We will not give up and we will not surrender." Lloyd declared. "Our president has made this clear in the strictest possible terms." Gradually, the others came around, though there was still uncertainty.

"So... how are we going to coordinate our defenses?" Vercetti asked. Soviet satellites were confirming that Italian troops were moving into the mountains, likely a wise strategy on their part.

_Nevertheless, we will fight on. _Andrei thought. _All of us know the consequences of failing to do so._

XXXXXXXXXX

May 12, 1982:

Just leaving their home was becoming an increasingly dangerous thing to do. Melanie was no stranger to the peril of wandering around a rough neighborhood, but things were worse than ever now.

It seemed as if many people believed with nuclear war imminent, they decided to do whatever they wanted. Cleveland was in a city-wide riot; there was no place to hide. Even the wealthy communities were being hit with violence, even though it was less severe.

"Seems to be getting worse every day now." Thomas sighed. Gunshots echoed throughout the neighborhood, proving his point. Their stockpile of food was running low and they knew that sooner or later, they would have to venture out again. He always insisted on coming with her; even Melanie did not argue against that now. "When people get scared, they get stupid." Police sirens were heard in the distance.

"You can't really blame them from being scared." Melanie sighed. It'd been over a month and the crisis was just as great as ever. Their parents were calling every day, worried that they had been among the victims in the city. She didn't know the exact death toll, but knew that it was now in the triple digits. "Maybe... maybe the world really will end." She hated voicing her fears, as a part believed that by doing so, she was making it more likely to happen. It didn't make sense, but a lot didn't make sense anymore.

"The world itself, no, but a lot of people will end up dead." Thomas informed with an irritatingly precise voice. "I've been reading some weird things on the news, though."

"Like what?" Melanie inquired.

"Apparently the Soviets are completely out of Afghanistan." Thomas stated. "They were committed to that war, despite all of the obstacles, and now they've withdrawn in less than a month. That's just plain weird, to put it mildly. And withdrawing all their support from Iraq at the same time as us? Not only that, but two divisions were withdrawn from Europe. You'd think if war was imminent, we'd be sending more troops over there, but they're all being recalled."

"So does that mean... there's a resolution?" Melanie asked, pondering the new information. He spent most of his spare time watching the news and reading the paper ever since it began.

"I'm not sure; could be some tit-for-tat exchange." Thomas stated. "All of this is just speculation, though. Reagan's not even talking to reporters, making this even more strange. Just have to hope for the best, I suppose." At the moment, though, there were more immediate danger, like being robbed, mugged, or killed.

_Every criminal in the city's taking advantage of this. _Melanie thought. They weren't the only ones, either. Even ordinary, law-abiding citizens were out there, settling scores or just causing chaos. New York, Chicago, New Orleans, and Baltimore were among the cities where the National Guard had come to restore order. In Cleveland, however, the mayor was stubbornly insisting that the police force alone could keep the streets safe, something that looked highly unlikely given the massive riot.

They heard a knock on the door. Thomas immediately grabbed his baseball bat, while Melanie held her switchblade in her hand. She initially thought about just pretending nobody was home, but with the lights on, it was unlikely to fool anyone. "Are you there, Melanie?" she heard a voice asked.

"Yeah, hold on." She responded, breathing a sigh of relief. It was Mark Toreno, one of her friends from High School. She opened the door, still prepared to fight if it came to that. He wouldn't be the only decent person to turn into a monster.

"Hey, Melanie, good to see you." Mark hugged her briefly. He was 6'3, towering over both of them. Upon closer examination, she saw a cut on his eyes and his ragged appearance. "Glad to see someone can survive out there."

"What the hell happened to you?" Melanie wondered, hearing her brother put down the baseball bat.

"Some assholes burned my apartment down; only sheer luck that I wasn't inside it at the time." Mark explained. "I was... I was hoping I could stay with you guys for a while."

"Suppose there's strength in numbers," Thomas shrugged. "You hear about all the cities calling in the National Guard?" Close to half a million men around the country had been drafted... not including the ones who had simply dodged the draft, which was likely a large number.

"Yeah, doesn't look like such a bad idea at the moment." Mark admitted. "Things are just nuts out there."

"Yes, we've figured that out." Thomas replied dryly. "Why do you think we're staying inside?"

"All right, come in." Melanie gestured. "You can stay with us for a while." She decided to overlook her brother's annoyance at that. "How is everyone?"

"My girlfriend's with her parents now that we don't have a home anymore." Mark sighed. Melanie didn't bother to ask about his. She knew he came from a dysfunctional family, even if he always declined to give any details about it. "One thing's for sure: I'm not going to be able to make it to my interview tomorrow."

"Yeah, that's disappointing." Thomas stated, trying and failing to hide his contempt. He'd always disliked her friends, ever since they were kids. Not that he didn't sometimes have a reason to; Melanie still shuddered at some of the people she hung out with back when she was a party girl. Both Mark and herself managed to pull themselves out of that lifestyle, but Thomas still judged him on it nonetheless.

Either Mark didn't notice it or decided to pretend he didn't. "Still, good to see you guys are doing all right. How's your job going?"

"It's all right, at least on the days I'm working." Melanie responded. "I like the people there, but honestly, like some of these customers are just stupid. I mean... I'm pointing to the menu and they still don't know how much anything costs."

"Yeah, I do that a lot." Mark chuckled. "Anyway, thanks for letting me stay here for a while; I appreciate it."

"Yeah, don't mention it." Thomas waved his hand in dismissal. "There's food in the kitchen if you want anything." He grabbed the remote and turned on the television.

"Do you have to be so rude to everyone I bring over?" Melanie hissed when Mark was out of earshot.

"What are you talking about?" Thomas inquired.

"I'm tired of you treating my sh... my friends like shit." Melanie snarled. "You could at least pretend to get along with him; he's a cool guy."

"He also broke into my room and stole my wallet last time he visited." Thomas reminded her.

"Look, I know what he used to be, but he's changed." Melanie informed him, trying hard not to lose her temper. "I mean, like, he used to be an alcoholic, but he quit freaking two years ago! Can you at least give him a chance?"

"And I still think you're too trusting, but fine." Thomas sighed. "You're going to do it regardless of what I say, anyway." He sighed and turned on the television. Hopefully, there was something decent on to watch, although that was always dubious at best.

But where the trio were expecting to see a sitcom, they saw Ronald Reagan in the White House instead, looking unusually somber. "My fellow Americans, I regret to inform you..." All three of them looked at each other with horror. This could only mean one thing: World War III. Melanie had the urge to look outside to see if any ICBMs were about to land on Cleveland, not that it would do any of them any good.

When they at last began to pay attention, they heard him say: "On March 6, unusual objects were detected in the solar system. After weeks of careful examination and debate, we determined them to be extraterrestrial in origin. Experts believe that these are interstellar spacecraft headed for Earth with the intention of colonizing us."

"Has that old man lost his mind?" Mark demanded.

"Either that or aliens really are headed for us; not sure which is more frightening." Thomas stated.

"All attempts we have made to communicate with them had been met with silence. Ever since, we have been coordinating with both NATO and the Soviet Union about how best to defend this country. Whatever our differences, we are all human and have allied together to face this nemesis from the stars.

"Our estimates indicate that they will arrive in three to four weeks. I ask all Americans to resist the invaders in every way possible and not to give in to despair. We will hold firm, we will resist, and we will stand united! America has never been forced to submit to a foreign power, nor will we ever."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Melanie snarked. "Would be nice if they told us earlier so we had more time to prepare."

"Since when do they tell us anything?" Mark remarked, but decided to listen to the rest of the speech.

"As commander-in-chief, I have decided to declare a state of emergency throughout the nation. All measures necessary will be taken in order to withstand the coming invasion and preserve the greatest country this world has ever known.

"I will not mince words. Our nation is in great danger, the likes of which we have not known since our war of independence. But I have faith in the American people, I have faith in our cause, and I have faith in humanity. No matter how long this great struggle may take, we will fight on, to our inevitable triumph. Thank you and may God bless the United States of America."

"Aliens are coming for us?" Melanie asked in astonishment. All of a sudden, the Soviets didn't seem like such dangerous foes. They knew their enemy and how to counter him, but who knew what their unwanted visitors were capable of?

"Least now I know what all those mysterious objects in space are." Thomas stated. When the other two looked at him, he explained: "I read a few articles about it; I just figured they were asteroids, not alien ships. Never would have expected any kind of First Contact situation."

"You think there's any way they could be coming in peace?" Mark wondered, clutching at straws.

"Doubt it, if they came all this way." Melanie mentioned.

"A fleet that size can't be here for any other reason than conquest." Thomas reasoned.

"That's assuming he hasn't simply gone senile." Mark reminded. "Aliens from outer space? Sounds like a bad science fiction story."

"I read a couple articles in the paper about objects detected from our observatories in our solar system." Thomas reminded. "It was buried on page 65, but I read that they were going far too fast to be a comet or meteor, and we had not yet identified what they were made of. Sounds crazy, I know, but they might just be aliens."

"So what do we do now?" Mark wondered.

"Pray," Melanie replied simply.

XXXXXXXXXX

May 14, 1982:

"Do you understand me?" A voice repeated. From the sounds of me, whoever it was happened to be repeating himself.

"Yes, I understand you, superior sir." Wuppah declared. Even though the Race had been perfecting Cold Sleep for tens of thousands of years, there existed a possibility, however remote, that something could go wrong with the procedure. "Is the conquest about to begin?"

"Actually, you have been woken up earlier than you were supposed to." the physician informed. "The Fleetlord had ordered that all combat pilots be woken up early in order to prepare."

"So... where are we exactly?" Wuppah hissed, undoing the straps on his belt. It took a couple minutes, but he managed to do so. The instant he did, he immediately floated up, hovering just a few inches below the ceiling.

"We will be passing Tosev 5 within a few days." The physician replied. "Once you have recovered from Cold Sleep, the commander wishes to speak with you."

"It shall be done." Wuppah agreed. His fingerclaws gripped the ceiling as he headed to the commander's briefing room. He kept both eye turrets out for any approaching males in order to avoid a collision. Seeing none, he grabbed the nearest metal bar he could find and propelled himself to his destination. Wuppah moved methodically, carefully, always on the lookout.

When he finally arrived, he saw that only a few of his fellow pilots had been awoken. Wuppah strapped himself down in one of the chairs and waited for the others to arrive. Obviously, this was important enough that this was news that everyone needed to hear.

He was looking forward to an easy conquest. Just before he had gone under, he and all other males who had volunteered during the Soldier's Time had been informed of the level of technology they were face. _Swords, arrows, spears, and animals. _Wuppah doubted the conquest would take even a tenth of the year, claiming a fourth world for the Race.

_Could that be different, though? _Wuppah wondered. He had expected one last brief just before they went into action, but not while they were still hundreds of millions of kilometers away from Tosev 3. _Maybe they've advanced faster than our probe indicated. _For a male of the Race, he had an unusual amount of imagination. Still, it seemed impossible that they could have advanced significantly over the past 1700 years.

Other pilots wandered in, looking just as confused as he did. Some were excited, believing that they had arrived and were about to depart. Not that there was likely to be much need for aircraft; with such primitive foes, the ground forces would be more than sufficient. Still, he couldn't help but wonder.

He waited as patiently as he could for the others to be brought out of cold sleep. However, he wasn't as patient as he would have liked and after a while, found himself drumming his fingerclaws against the arm of the seat. Based on the concerned look that their Supreme Group Leader had, Wuppah was beginning to think that his suspicion was correct.

After what wasn't far from a daytenth, the last of the pilots on the 42nd Emperor Jonsed arrived and the Supreme Group leader began to speak. "Males of the Race, you have been woken prematurely because the situation is not what we had expected." Due to discipline and the ingrained training to obey a superior, there were no muttering looks. Even so, there were a lot of curious glances.

_I think I might be right, _Wuppah thought. He wondered if any of his fellow pilots had come to the same conclusion. _Apparently not. _Most of them simply looked mystified.

"Recent scans of Tosev 3 have indicated that the natives are considerably more advanced than we believed." their commander informed, using an empathetic cough to state how much they had advanced. "Indeed, we have even discovered that they possess killercraft, albeit more primitive. We have yet to discover all the details, but even the ones we do know have informed us that this conquest will be more difficult than anticipated."

A hologram of Tosev 3 was put on the screen. The planet looked simply... strange to Wuppah. He had seen it before, but it still looked odd. Home had only eight percent of its surface covered by water and Rabotev 2 and Halless 1 had a similar composition. Tosev 3 was... different, to put it mildly.

Next were holograms of some of the killercraft that the Race observed. There were few exact details, but based on its shape and armament (An F-16, a fact unknown to Wuppah) wasn't much less advanced than the killercraft possessed. Its only serious disadvantage was that it ran on hydrocarbons, giving it a much shorter range.

"This is the most advanced killercraft that we have yet detected and what all of you can expect to face when the invasion begins." The commander informed them. "As of now, we do not know how many of them the Tosevites possess, but we are being forced to change our strategy considerably. We have less than two-tenths of a year to do so, however."

Almost everyone froze when they heard that. Even Wuppah did not expect the Tosevite's technological advancement to be so great! When they went into action, they would be facing killercraft that could come close to watching them in combat. _You wanted action; you got it. _Before Wuppah had left home, he complained that he wouldn't really be able to participate in the invasion before ground forces had completed the conquest. _Be careful what you ask to hatch from an egg._

"With this being truth, how are we going to defeat the Tosevites?" Wuppah inquired. He did not fancy being shot down by the enemy; he was being forced to realize that he and all his other fellow males were not nearly as invincible as they previously believed themselves to be.

"The fleetlord and his subordinates are currently planning a rebalance of our strategic forces." The commander informed. "It is fortunate that we have a numerical advantage, even if our killercraft are still superior. Beyond that, I am not yet authorized to say anything."

The briefing continued, with certain sections of the northern hemisphere lightning up, indicating where the most advanced civilizations of Tosev 3 lived. _How many different empires did they have? _Wuppah knew Home had been the same way before The Unification, but he still had a difficult time imagining the concept of multiple governments. Why were some more advanced than others? Why were most of the advanced ones apparently in the Northern Hemisphere? All the questions were unanswerable. _Nevertheless, the Emperor has ordered it. _He cast down his eye-turrets at the mere thought of his sovereign.

"Means we'll be able to play a role after all." The male next to him hissed. It was Ventro, who was assigned to hovering killercraft. Wuppah felt the same way, but he knew that the Tosevites could just as easily kill him. "Still, it's too chilly an egg for my tastes. You wouldn't think a planet so far from its star would even be habitable."

Wuppah agreed; some parts of it would be pleasant, but too much of it wasn't. His mind was mostly on the briefing, though. The commander had moved on from military forces of their opponent to the information they had gleaned from their probe 1,690 years ago. Its distance from its sun, the natural resources, and its age. Not that it had much relevance to what they were about to get themselves into, but the information was good to have.

"So what do you think about all of this?" Wuppah heard a killercraft pilot ask a comrade.

"It sounds like they're jerking our tailstumps." He responded. "It just isn't possible; I'm telling you!"

_I have a bad feeling about this. _Wuppah said to himself.

May 23, 1982:

For the first time, Atvar was beginning to think it would be wise to turn back. The news just got more discouraging the more they learned of Tosev 3.

They detect radio signals coming from the planet, aimed directly at their fleet. It meant that the Race had completely lost the element of surprise, and the Tosevites knew they were coming. They had even sent messages to them, which as of yet, their researchers had not been able to translate.

"The Tosevites capable of going from swords to space travel in the blink of an eye; who would possibly have imagined this?" Kirel stated.

"Truth," Atvar agreed. Should they turn back? Should they simply abandon the conquest of Tosev 3? It would mean that he would gain the notoriety of being the first fleetlord to abandon a conquest. He wanted to be remembered, but not for infamy. On the other side, it was his duty to care for more than his individual glory. He needed to take into account all the males of the Race under his command. "To make matters even worse, our scans have indicated recent nuclear tests all over the surface. We have never before faced a foe with explosive-metal bombs of their own to use against us."

"We have 3,000 tactical and strategic bombs." Kirel reminded. "I... have trouble believing the Tosevites could build so many of their own."

"That was what I thought at first... until we intercepted this." Atvar informed his subordinate. It was video of a very large missile, larger than any the Race had ever built. Within two minutes, the missile had entered the orbit of Tosev 3. "This... this changes everything. If they can hit us even from orbit, our conquest is in grave danger of failing."

"Even so, the computer projections do show us defeating them." Kirel pointed out, though that was before they knew even starships were at risk. "While their technology is comparable to our own in military terms, ours is the greater quantity, both of equipment and soldiers."

"Yes, I have seen the computer projections." Atvar reminded. "Even before we learned of these... orbital missiles, we stood to lose between three and five million males conquering Tosev 3, many orders of magnitude higher than we anticipated when we left home."

"It is quite horrifying and much more difficult than we imagined when we left Home." Kirel mentioned in a dramatic understatement. He looked his superior over carefully. "Do you... intend to cancel the invasion?"

Atvar wished that his subordinate did not vocalize his private doubts. Yes, he had been thinking about it, thinking about it ever since they discovered Tosevite probes in their solar system. Why they had advanced in the blink of an eye, he did not know. Could they successfully overcome them?

"I am considering it, yes." Atvar was forced to admit. He wished more than anything that they could simply go back into Cold Sleep and wait for orders from Home. After forty-eight years, however, who could tell what the Tosevites would have invented by then.

"It will be difficult, yes, but I do not believe that all hope is lost." Kirel decided to speak his opinion once he was sure Atvar would not get angry at him for doing so. "Based on the specifications, these missiles can be hunted down and destroyed; their size makes them difficult to conceal. If we wipe out whatever fortifications these are stored at, we will be in a much better position."

"I hope we can find them," Atvar worried. The missiles would be relatively easy to shoot down, at least in orbit where the Race still had an advantage. Providing, of course, that the Tosevites did not have a great number of them. Starship defenses were effective, at least while their orbital antimissile stockpiles lasted.

"The final decision is up to you, of course, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel gave the posture of respect. "If you give the order, we will refuel at Tosev 5 and return home."

Atvar stayed deep in thought, weighing his options. No other fleetlord had ever had such a dangerous responsibility, and the future of the Race could depend on what happened next. "We will proceed," Atvar finally decided. "Left alone, the Tosevites could pose a threat to us; we must subdue them before that happens. The Emperor has ordered us to bring this world under his dominion."

"It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel bowed.

"Plans will have to be changed, of course." Atvar stated. The original ones were completely unsuited to the changed situation. "We will have to be more aggressive. Scans of the surface will be limited to two days."

"Exalted Fleetlord, that will not be nearly enough time to detect everything." Kirel worried.

"I know, but if we wait too long, it will give them more time to prepare, which would be even riskier for us." Atvar replied. Ideally, they would be able to eliminate all explosive-metal weapons the Tosevites possessed, but even he knew how unlikely that was. "We will use the remaining time to discuss the details; have the intelligence officers intercept and translate as many messages as they can." _And pray to the spirits of Emperors Past that it does some good, _Atvar thought.


	4. Chapter 4

June 6, 1982:

Steven Peterman could not see the alien ships from his current position, but he knew that they were there. Hundreds of ships had arrived in orbit twenty hours ago, and they had yet to respond to the communications that every major country in the world was sending in their direction.

_Maybe they don't understand our language, _He thought. Peterman knew that human languages were complicated enough without adding extraterrestrials into it. He had read enough science fiction magazines to know that communication would be extremely difficult. Even at forty years ago, he found them to be fascinating.

"Wonder what they're up to..." Robert Frank wondered. He was the senior of the two operators. "I can't stand this waiting."

"That's what we're here for," Peterman shrugged. If they received the orders, the two of them had the authority to launch the United States' intercontinental ballistic missiles. Most were aimed at the Soviet Union, with a few pointing in China's direction just in case. "You'd think they'd send some form of communication, even if we didn't understand it."

_I have a bad feeling about this, _Peterman thought. There were hundreds of ships and Peterman had trouble believing that they had crossed light years just for peaceful exploration. He tried to stay calm, but for him, this was like a nightmare. What chance did they really have against a foe that could travel through the stars?

Their ICBMs could strike targets in space, but it wasn't what they were really designed for. Peterman wondered just how many of the Minuteman missiles would get through. There had been talk of a satellite defense system, as the most efficient way to intercept such deadly weapons was from space. Until now, though, nobody did much except talk about it.

He pushed himself to his feet, stretching and trying to find something to calm his nerves. "Never thought I'd actually be wishing for the good old days of the Cold War," Peterman muttered to himself.

"Yes, it does seem a bit silly now to worry about the Soviets when there are greater threats out there." Frank responded, although Peterman had not intended to say that out loud. "We'll just have to wait for orders. I'm going to get some coffee; do you want any?"

"No, thank you." Peterman sipped from his tea cup. Although an American citizen, he had spent much of his childhood in Britain and some of their habits had rubbed off on him. "Five hundred ships... probably carrying millions of their people." Aliens or not, he didn't like the idea of murdering so many, but if that's what it took to keep his country safe, he'd press the button.

That was assuming they could do that. The United States had 1,049 ICBMs ready for launch; the Soviet Union had even more. How many would actually get through their defenses, though? _Not very many; is this what the natives felt like when we arrived? _Peterman thought. The analogy was not an especially encouraging one.

"We've got blackouts all over the country." Frank informed his co-worker when he returned with his coffee. "I heard some of the senior technicians talking about it."

"Are these aliens actually able to shut down our electrical grid?" Peterman gulped. If they removed their power supply...

"No, we've shut them down; concerns over EMP." Frank explained.

"Well, that's... a little better." The silos and most military facilities were shielded against electromagnetic pulses, but most civilian electronics weren't. No one was really sure just how devastating the waves would be if the missiles had to be launched, but Peterman didn't want to find out the hard way.

_At least I left my final message, _Peterman had called his family in Los Angeles. He had been divorced for ten years and not on amicable terms, but he wanted to wish his wife safety anyway; like her, he was terrified at what could happen to their three children.

They sat there in silence for an hour longer until the alarm began to sound. "Attention: we are at DEFCON 1!" The loudspeaker proclaimed. "I repeat: we are at DEFCON 1."

"Looks like they're hostile," Frank sighed. DEFCON 1 meant that nuclear war was imminent.

XXXXXXXXXX

June 7, 1982:

"Exalted Fleetlord, two days have passed since our arrival." Kirel informed his superior.

"How much have we found?" Atvar asked. The more success they had, the better. The problem was with so little time to do anything, none of them could be certain that they would disable the Tosevite's ability to resist. "If only we could have taken them by surprise..."

"No one could have anticipated such a rapid technological advance, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel reassured.

"Have those Big Uglies surrendered to us yet?" Straha asked, eager to begin the invasion. "If they haven't, I would suggest a few explosive-metal bombs to persuade them."

"Have you forgotten they possess such weapons of their own, Shiplord?" Atvar snapped at him, hissing with frustration. In order to successfully conquer Tosev 3, he had rebalanced his forces. The original plan was to have his forces evenly distributed throughout the planet, but instead, he was going to wait to conquer the less advanced regions. The major powers of Tosev 3 had to be defeated first.

"What do you make of their messages proclaiming peace... Exalted Fleetlord?" Straha asked.

Atvar wished he knew. It was strange for him. The Tosevites were clearly ready to fight; every power throughout the world kept as many of their killercraft in the air as was feasible. Fortunately, it looked like they could not follow Race pilots into orbit, so they had a major advantage there. On the translated communications, researchers surmised that many Tosevite males (but not females, for some reason) were being mobilized into their armed forces.

"Perhaps they wish to open a dialogue, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel suggested.

"Or perhaps they're weaker than we previously believed." Straha opened his mouth in amusement. "If they were in such a superior position, the Big Uglies would already have opened fire on us. The fact they have not suggests they know that we can defeat them."

_What to do, what to do... _Atvar thought, reconsidering his plans. If he was going to invade, he knew it had to be soon. Every moment the Conquest Fleet delayed gave the Tosevites more time to prepare. If he waited too long, they would be able to overwhelm his males with sheer numbers alone. The estimated population was approximately 4.5 billion, close to half their own population on Home.

"Prepare thirty-five explosive metal bombs," Atvar ordered. "Place them in the planet's orbit and detonate them. It won't matter how advanced they are if their electronics are in ruins."

"It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel made the posture of respect and went to send the Fleetlord's orders. As they had detected hundreds of nuclear power plants across the surface, Atvar knew that they likely had some concept of electromagnetic shielding. Any part of their industry they could shut down, though, would work to their advantage.

"In addition, we need to clear the skies of their killercraft before we begin landing troops." Atvar added. "I do not want our males to be ambushed before even climbing out of their starships."

"That should be simple enough, Exalted Fleetlord." Straha made the affirmative hand gesture. "Their killercraft is inferior to ours in both number and quality, and I am quite confident that our pilots have superior training. We are the Race, after all, and the Big Uglies are nothing but savages." Atvar hoped Straha was right about that.

XXXXXXXXXX

Rafael Montes saw a large explosion in the distant sky. Even at the age of fourteen, he knew that could be nothing other than a nuclear weapon. He shivered in fear and wanted to hide, but knew that there was nowhere to go. The building was unlikely to give them much protection. Not long after, the lights had flickered and gone out.

The boy was no stranger to violence and had gotten adept at avoiding the dangerous individuals in East L.A., but even he had been terrified of the riots that had wrecked the city over the past few weeks. Even after the official announcement, some people had expressed doubt that aliens were really about to invade. Others believed everyone was dead regardless and decided to cause some chaos before the end.

"Did you see that?" Rafael ran out and told his parents. "I saw a massive explosion." Much of his sweat, hot as the day was, had little to do with the weather.

"Damn TV isn't working anymore," His father Edwardo cursed, throwing the remote aside. "What did you see out there, son?" Edwardo was thirty-seven years old and powerfully built, as he had done hard physical labor for most of his life. Dangerous as the streets were, Rafael always felt safe walking alongside him.

"I... I saw a big explosion in the window." Rafael explained. "It was from high up, and I think... I think it was from a nuke!"

"Should we get out of the city?" His mother Evelyn worried. Unlike his father, his mother was white and two years younger than Edwardo. "The city's a certain target."

"No, there's nowhere to go." Edwardo shook his head. "Right now, it'd be more dangerous to flee than to stay put. Just wish I knew what the hell is happening out there." Around his neck, there was a cross, which he grasped nervously, saying silent prayers.

_I hope Nena and Bianca will be ok, _Rafael thought of his ten year old twin sisters. Even though everything was going to hell around them, somehow they had managed to keep up a cheery outlook. Both of them were taking a nap, and fortunately missed the nuclear weapon exploding.

He went to the refrigerator and poured himself some juice, feeling powerless to do anything. Rafael knew he couldn't fight, he couldn't run, and he couldn't hide. All he could do right now was wait; it was completely out of his hands.

"We'll be ok, I promise." His mother smiled, hugging him tightly. Rafael had the feeling she was trying to convince herself as much as him. "We're safe in here."

"I really wish I hadn't seen that..." Rafael shuddered, drinking his apple juice. Even though he knew it was unbecoming of a boy his age, tears threatened to slip out of his eyes. He was terrified of what could happen to him. He knew what nuclear war meant, and now with the aliens arriving, it was difficult to keep his composure.

"Just wish I knew what the fu... heck was going on," Edwardo muttered, cutting his curse short at the last second. His mother was always furious when he cussed in front of their children, despite the fact that even Rafael's younger sister had heard all the words before. It was so absurd that Rafael laughed a bit despite himself.

"Thanks, Mom." Rafael forced a smile for her sake and gently pushed himself out of her grip. He knew he was too old to be comforted like that anyway; he wasn't a little kid anymore. _I feel like one now, though. _Rafael admitted to himself. He wanted to hide in his mother's arms once again and pretend that what was happening could not be happening.

His parents were just as frightened as he was, even though they were doing their best to hide it. Edwardo opened the door to their second bedroom to check on Nena and Bianca, as if fearing that they would suddenly disappear. "Still asleep; they haven't noticed anything." Edwardo sighed with relief. "We're about as prepared as we can be." That wasn't saying very much, though.

"Would you like some more juice, sweetie?" Evelyn asked, to which Rafael shook his head. He wanted to say something, but no sound emerged from his lips.

The electricity was down meaning that he couldn't watch his favorite television programs and it was too dark in the house to read, even inside his room. For the moment, there was nothing to do but wait and worry.

June 7, 1982:

Wuppah was the fifth to fly his killercraft out of the starship. He kept one of his eye turrets on his instruments at all time. No Tosevite aircraft had yet been detected, but that didn't mean they weren't out there.

"Looks like we may have taken them by surprise after all." Nesser declared. "Not one big Ugly aircraft in sight right now!"

"Kind of a shame; I was looking forward to a bit of action." Atvar agreed. Atvar was a fairly common name among the Race, but even so, his fellow pilots occasionally poked fun at him for having the same name as the fleetlord.

"Don't forget your duty; we need to clear the area so our starships can land." Hefron reminded. "Remember: their killercraft may be inferior to our own, but they're more than capable of killing you if you give them the opportunity. Always be alert." Many skirmishes had already taken place throughout the northern hemisphere. Fortunately for them, many enemy killercraft were caught on the ground before they could be used in all of the confusion.

"It shall be done." Wuppah stated. It sounded like pointless advice to him, but listening to some of his flightmates' arrogance made him think that it was nonetheless valid. Electromagnetic pulse bombs had already been launched prior to the main air assault, hopefully knocking out the Tosevite's capability to keep them from landing.

Unlike some of his squadmates, however, he had been listening to the stories of those pilots who had already encountered Big Ugly aircraft. While the Race still had the advantage, losses were appallingly high. Their anti-air defenses were more numerous than expected and the pilots that did manage to get into the air were quite capable of bringing a Race killercraft down.

A few minutes later, the first enemy aircraft were picked up. Wuppah was counting dozens of them, close to a hundred in the area. Warning was shouted, but everyone was already alert. In the immediate vicinity, they outnumbered the Tosevites two to one.

"Let's see how well they can cope with this!" Atvar exclaimed, firing half a dozen missiles in their direction. Wuppah hissed; they were still 40 Tlocks (80 kilometers) away, not exactly optimal for their weaponry. However, they were closing fast and would be within optimal firing range in less than a minute.

Three of the missiles hit their targets, three Tosevite aircraft crashing into the ground. Wuppah chose a pair of targets and fired missiles of his own. He knew better than to underestimate the enemy and was not about to take any unnecessary chances. He intended to listen to those who had already been in the fighting.

The dogfight was not one-sided, however. The Tosevites were already firing back, and Wuppah detected dozens of air-to-air missiles headed directly for them. He thanked the Spirits of Emperors Past that they had throughout to bring along jammer aircraft. Still, he wasn't about to rely on them alone. He took evasive action, intending to make himself as much of a moving target as he could.

Most pilots managed to survive the sortie, but five of their killercraft were hit, and only one of them was fast enough to eject before impact. _That could have been me, _He realized. He knew it was possible, but didn't think any of their weapons would have been able to hit them through all their jamming equipment.

"May the purple itch get under their scales.." Wuppah hissed, firing three more air-to-air missiles at his opponent. All of them were now within 25 kilometers of each other, with hundreds of missiles being fired on both sides.

Wuppah felt himself slammed into his seat as he maneuvered through the fray, being covered by three of his fellow pilots. He forced himself not to black out evading a pair of Tosevite missiles. One lost him, but he was forced to use many of his flares to intercept the second. That had been entirely too close.

He was forced to admit, the Tosevites had courage. Despite the horrific losses they had taken, none of them were attempting to retreat. If anything, the loss of their comrades only made them more infuriated. "How many killercraft do they have?" Nesser snarled in frustration. "We've got more headed our way!"

"Affirmative; I'm spotting at least another 50 killercraft, probably coming from a nearby base." Atvar stated. "Least we know where our target is now."

"We can land our starships as soon as we clear them from the skies." Hefron declared.

Wuppah hoped that they would be unprepared, but privately doubted it. Tosevites losses were much heavier than theirs, but even the losses they had taken in just a few minutes were considerable. "Then we'd better hit them before they have a chance to do the same." Hefron advised.

"It shall be done." Wuppah agreed, turning his killercraft to meet the new threat. Some enemy aircraft from the original group were still capable of fighting, however, and succeeded in bringing down another half a dozen Race aircraft before being shot down themselves.

"Squadrons 1 through 4, break off and destroy the Tosevite airbase." All of them received a message from the highest-ranking male in the area. Being that Wuppah was in squadron 2, he immediately obeyed orders, although he still hoped that the remaining squadrons had enough numbers and enough missiles to defeat the aircraft that were only two minutes away.

"This should be a lot easier." Atvar's mouth hung open. "Their killercraft are more formidable in the air than expected, yes, but on the ground, they are nothing more than giant targets."

"Assuming we destroy them before they manage to get them into the air." Hefron reminded. "We've done well so far. Another few minutes, we'll have won."

However, as it turned out, the Tosevites still had a few surprises remaining for them. Wuppah detected more missiles headed for his killercraft. His eye turrets wandered to the radar, confused at the lack of enemy craft in the immediate area. It took him a few moments to realize that they were being fired from the ground.

"Superior sir, we've got a further complication." Wuppah declared, switching to air-to-ground missiles. He only had four, however, so he knew he had to choose his targets carefully. "Got him!" He fired two of them at the Tosevite's missile launchers, both hitting their targets. _We should have known we would encounter these vehicles. _

While even less accurate than the ones of the enemy's aircraft, a couple of missiles did hit their mark, sending three Race killercraft crashing into the ground. Wuppah hissed in fury and made a mental promise to make the Big Uglies pay for the losses they'd inflicted.

"Okay, that's another three down." Atvar declared. Most of the launchers were destroyed, while the others... were most likely playing acting like the Ovort on Home, who were known to play dead in order to discourage predators.

As they got closer, more surface-to-air missile launchers opened up, causing little damage to the Race's killercraft, but proving that the Tosevites that they were not yet out of the fight. Two more planes were destroyed, but the pilots succeeded in exiting their killercraft in time. Wuppah only hoped they would be found before the Big Uglies got ahold of them.

When they got within range of the base, Wuppah spotted dozens of Tosevite craft still on the runway. They were frantically trying to get them in the air before the Race arrived, but they had run out of time.

"Let's show them who this planet truly belongs to!" Nesser declared, firing all four of his air-to-surface missiles, the Tosevite aircraft bursting in flames. Wuppah fired his last, as did all of his remaining comrades. He swooped down to pick off any stragglers, not wanting to end up in the middle of an ambush.

The Tosevites were brave, he had to give them that much. Many were running for cover, but were not retreating. Some of them were even continuing to fuel the airplanes and get them ready for flight in spite of everything. Guns were fired at them, having no effect, but Wuppah had to respect their bravery. They had to have known the odds against them.

Although all the enemy killercraft were destroyed, they still were not out of danger just yet. More surface-to-air missiles, smaller ones, were fired in their direction. Unlike the others, however, all Wuppah needed to do was climb and accelerate in order to avoid it.

"How many of those things do they have?" Atvar asked in frustration. "I thought we took out all of their installations!"

"I think they might be handheld." Wuppah stated, although he dearly hoped he was wrong. Large installations with SAMs were bad enough, but if any Tosevite could carry them, they were in a lot of trouble. Luckily, they seemed to have short range and a low flight ceiling. None of them succeeded in bringing any more killercraft down.

"Looks like this area's clear." Nesser declared. "Still... they did fight bravely, that much I'll give them."

"Yeah, once we've won, they'll serve us nicely." Atvar dropped his mouth.

"Bit first, we've got to defeat them." Hefron reminded. Once the thrill of battle was over, they began to remember that even if they won, it was not without a price. Too many of their comrades did not return; how many more had died in landings throughout the world?

XXXXXXXXXX

Just when Peterman thought it couldn't get worse, life found a way to prove him wrong. "We're sitting ducks here!" He complained. The aliens had figured out that the missile silos in the United States were a threat to them and were reacting accordingly. He did not know for sure just how many Minuteman missiles had been destroyed, but the number was not likely to be small.

"Bunker busters... we just lost silos 81 through 89." Frank groaned, rubbing his temples in frustration. In the event of a nuclear war, both sides had at least a good idea where the opponent's ICBMs were stored, making them targets. Having a large number of missiles widely dispersed, however, helped to ensure that the United States would have enough to hit back.

Fortunately, the one he was currently residing at had not yet been detected. Except for a few surface-to-air missile installations, it was all but undefended. If the aliens wanted to destroy it, there was little they could do to stop them. "Damn it, when are we going to receive the launch authorization?" Peterman complained. "If they realize we're a threat, we'd better use at least some of these missiles before they destroy them all!"

"We have our orders, much as we hate it." Frank replied. "There's a good reason it's very difficult to gain authorization when you're playing with this level of firepower."

_And what good is it going to do us if we all get killed? _Peterman snarled to himself. The instant the silos were hit, the majority of technicians had believed that orders would soon be given to launch. Instead, it had been close to three hours and still they were forced to sit tight. "If they obtain orbital supremacy..." Peterman worried.

Soon, they learned precisely what the delay was. Information had come in that some in the Politburo had concerns that the United States would use this as an opportunity to launch a First Strike on the Soviet Union. Commanders in the United States had expressed similar worries. Therefore, Reagan and Brezhnev were meeting in a secure location to assure the other that the only targets were the aliens orbiting above Earth.

"Perfect timing to let Cold War politics get in the way." Frank groaned when they had received the information.

"How fucking stupid can these people be?!" Peterman was about to blow a gasket. "Those fucking aliens are blowing us to bits and these people are delusional enough to think we'd launch them at the USSR! This is a load of bullshit! We need to act now!" He was seriously tempted to try and convince the other technicians to launch anyway without orders. Anything was better than just sitting here waiting for death.

Reports continued to flood in of more silos being destroyed. Plenty were still being overlooked, but the aliens had caused considerable damage to the nation's first strike capability. Peterman fidgeted impatiently, grabbing his launch key. Frank had been reluctantly convinced to do the same.

After what seemed like a lifetime, the President and Secretary of Defense had authorized a missile launch. Peterman and Frank turned their keys, as did the duo in the adjacent launch control center.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Are these reports of losses true?" Atvar inquired of his second-in-command.

"It appears to be the case." Kirel informed. "Hundreds of our killercraft pilots have been shot down; the majority are dead." Those who had managed to eject were likely to end up captured before they could be rescued. Tosevite losses had been a lot worse, thanks to Race numerical superiority, but when they had set up, they had not expected to lose any killercraft at all.

"And every silo we have detected has been destroyed." That was what Atvar had truly been concerned about. They might have been designed to hit other portions of the planet, but they were still a danger to the Conquest Fleet. "I wonder why they had not launched when we hit them. Perhaps our explosive-metal bombs prevented communication from getting through."

"We estimate three days before we can begin landing troops on a large scale, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel stated. "Their killercraft are inferior, but still deadly, and it will take time to clear them out of the sky." If anything, they were even more dangerous than their researchers and analysts had expected. Not only were the natives well-equipped, but they knew how to use their killercraft.

"All things considered, it is going well." Atvar hissed. "Remember, I want our starships to give whatever orbital support they can provide to our landing forces. They may attempt to drop explosive-metal bombs as we disembark."

"It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel responded. What few weapons their starships possessed were defensive, not offensive in nature; large antimissiles and close-in-weapons-systems.

A few minutes later, they had received a disturbing report. "Exalted Fleetlord, the empires known as the United States and the USSR have launched missiles!" Atvar's adjutant Pshing ran in, looking to be on the edge of panic.

"How many?" Atvar demanded.

"Dozens; some of our starships are directly in their path." Pshing informed.

"Full evasive action; order them to accelerate and launch interceptors... now!" Atvar snapped and Pshing ran off to carry out his orders. According to his researchers, the missiles were easier to destroy before they accelerated to their full speed.

As the missiles were not specifically designed to hit space targets, most of them missed, with the help of the Race's defenses. However, three starships were hit, tens of thousands being killed instantly and the ships being turned into little more than melted slag. The shockwaves sent debris racing towards other ships, damaging another. Fortunately, they were designed to withstand dust particle impacts between the stars.

"How could this have happened?" Atvar demanded.

"Exalted Fleetlord, it appears that there were other silos that we had not identified." Kirel explained. "In addition, there were others that had not been as crippled as we hoped. These are designed to endure heavy damage."

"We had best keep this from happening again." Three ships gone, two others damaged, and close to 100,000 males dead. So far, this was only the first day of the invasion.

XXXXXXXXXX

June 9, 1982:

Pavel Babikov hoped they would be able to get close enough to their target to make a difference in the fighting. He didn't expect to survive; none of his fellow pilots did. All he hopes to do was last long enough to make a difference in the fighting. The majority of the fighters had already been destroyed, as were as many silos as the aliens could hunt down.

He was more than aware that his Mig-25 was no match for anything the invaders had, even without them significantly outnumbering his forces. Every pilot throughout the Soviet Union knew that they would be the first line of defense against invasion and that it was likely that most of them would not return home. Each one had gotten their efforts in order and prepared for death as best they could.

_I just hope we're going in the right direction. _The first thing they did was wipe out all the satellites in Earth's orbit. The second was setting off EMPs all throughout the Soviet Union, knocking out a significant part of their civilian power grid, hampering production. The third was hitting the locations where their nuclear weapons were stored. Their radar was picking up alien forces approximately 200 kilometers west of them, near Warsaw.

"For the Rodina!" Pavel declared. There were only fifty of them, too few to last long, but he had discussed a plan that should be able to take the aliens off-guard. _We hope, at least. _Troops were also being gathered near where the starships were landing, hoping to slow them down and hit them before they could gather in force. As the Soviet Army was scattered through Russia and Eastern Europe, it was proving difficult to concentrate them in one place.

"Wish we had a few fucking satellite images." One of the pilots under his command complained. Hours before the invasion began, the aliens destroyed all of their satellites, civilian and military both.

"Stop whining; we knew what we were getting into." A second rebuked them.

"Enough; we have no time for quarrels." Pavel snapped at them. "We're nearly within range, alien forces at 2:00. Ignore the aircraft; we're got more important targets." After they managed to get within 150 kilometers, he launched both of his R-33 missiles.

By that time, however, the aliens had already detected their presence, and they were forced to take evasive action. "Ignore the aircraft; focus on their transports!" Many were listening, but not all as they tried frantically to ignore the legions of missiles headed right for them. Their electronic countermeasures provided some protection, but even so, close to half his forces were shot out of the sky before they could get within 100 kilometers.

Pavel would not be dissuaded. He sped up, using his fuel lavishly; it wasn't as if he would be returning from the mission. As he got closer, he fired all his short-ranged missiles, hoping that they would at least have some effect.

It had only been ninety seconds and already only a handful of his pilots were left. Some were attacking the alien aircraft, in defiance of his orders. "Focus on the starships!" He ordered yet again, though it seemed that for some, their fear was overtaking them and were aiming at the immediate threat.

He launched his last missile, only to see it intercepted before it got even halfway to the target. So far as he could tell, not a single starship had been taken down and he had nothing left to fight with. That is, until his radar detected three of his remaining pilots accelerating to maximum speed, changing course and headed directly to their ships.

_This might just be crazy enough to work. _Pavel thought, following suit as he realized what they intended to do. He launched every flare he had as a distraction, hoping the aliens wouldn't realize what his intentions were. _One way or the other, I'll find out. _He accelerated to three kilometers per second; it wasn't as if he was going to survive.

He was less than five seconds away from one of the starships, which had already taken damage from numerous missile impacts and was trying to get out of the line of fire. _I've got you, you son... _His trail of thoughts ended as his plane crashed into the starship, setting off a series of explosions and bringing it crashing down to Earth.

XXXXXXXXXX

June 9, 1982:

Betvoss looked up at the sky, his eye turret searching for any Big Ugly aircraft that might spot them. Not that it would do him much good, as he knew perfectly well, but it could give him an extra few seconds of warning. He continued walking through the Empire known as the United States.

_At least you managed to land successfully. _Betvoss reminded himself. He heard the report of heavy losses among killercraft pilots during the initial landing as they cleared the way for their troopships to land. Never in a million years, however, would he ever have expected them to have the capability to shoot down their starships.

He thanked the spirits of Emperors Past that he was not on one of the starships that the Big Uglies destroyed. A few pilots actually slammed their killercraft into their starships, a tactic Betvoss believed to be completely insane. Their defenses had not acted in time because the Race found such suicidal actions beyond comprehension.

Before they landed, they had been surrounded by enemy troops and equipment. Killercraft pilots had dropped a couple of tactical explosive-metal bombs on areas where the Tosevites had assembled enough troops to pose a serious threat. It was considered regrettable, but necessary. Those not killed in the blasts or retreated had been taken prisoner, with hopes that the Race would learn more about Big Ugly capabilities.

"Least it's warm here, even if it's too humid." One of his fellow infantarymales Premas declared. They had been moving for two-tenths of a day and as of yet, had not personally encountered any Big Ugly resistance. Others, however, in their army had and suffer considerable casualties.

_Probably take at least a week, perhaps two, for everyone to land here. _Betvoss thought. Still, they would be able to make advances before then. Already they were advancing on a major city. Columbus, he believed the name was. They had already spotted Big Ugly roads, built with higher quality than he would have expected from them, making travel considerably quicker than it would have been otherwise.

"I keep wondering why we haven't heard from their infantarymales." Skyrim wondered. He was almost absurdly tall for a male of the Race (about 5 feet) and towered over his comrades. "Surely even Big Uglies would put up a fight."

"Maybe they're already trying to surrender." Votal suggested. "This place is amazing; never dreamed any place would have such much life." Betvoss had never seem so many trees and plants in a single area on Home.

He hadn't spotted anything but a few native animals, but Betvoss still had the feeling that they were out there, somewhere. "Warning: Tosevite forces in the area. Proceed with caution." His radio declared, as did everyone else's. _Where could they possibly be hiding? _He had run numerous simulations of just this kind of thing, although nobody on Home realized just how many plants were on Tosev 3 that could give the Big Uglies places to hide.

"Are they addled?" Skyrim wondered. "We haven't seen a trace of them." Part of that might have had something to do with the explosive-metal bomb that they dropped nearby, an air burst in order to minimize exposure to radiation. "Still... we'd better listen."

It was another daytenth before they saw any sign of their opponents. Unfortunately, they choose to reveal themselves by launching anti-tank missiles at one of their troop carriers. Betvoss dropped to the ground as quickly as he could, feeling slightly queasy when he saw the vehicle. Nobody was getting out of it alive.

The big Uglies followed up with machine-gun fire, forcing them to stay down. Betvoss and the others fired at where they figured the shots had to be coming from, but while screams could vaguely be heard through the firefight, it did little to halt the barrage.

The landcruisers turned around and opened up with their machine gun. The Big Uglies immediately scatter, but Betvoss refused to get up. He had a feeling that wasn't going to be all the enemy threw at them. His suspicion proved to be right when enemy landcruisers opened up on their positions while their infantry were getting out of their troop carriers in order to fight.

Two shots hit one of their landcruisers' front armor. The vehicle was disabled, but unlike the troop carrier, the males were able to escape unharmed. Helicopters blew several enemy landcruisers to bits, their guns delivering a heavy toll on their infantry.

_They're hitting us in every direction! _Betvoss came to the unpleasant realization once they were hit in two more directions. Even fission bombs had not deterred them from fighting back.

Three platoons advanced while others did the best they could to grant them covering fire. Betvoss had been through this scenario dozens of times in the simulator. That is, except for one detail: failing in the simulator would earn you a stern lecture from the instructor. Failing here would cost him his life.

His squad attempted to outflank the Tosevites, but they had already anticipated such at attempt and threw a few grenades in his direction. Had Betvoss moved a couple seconds faster, he would have been blown to pieces. As it was, he was forced to take cover behind a tree. They were pinned down, unable to move forward. They fired their rifles as well in an effort to halt any advance they attempted.

Betvoss was grateful he was wearing body armor, but it was only designed to protect him from a couple lucky shots, not a sustained barrage. Machine gun fire was everywhere, from both the Race and the Tosevites. "What are we going to do, superior sir?" he asked. "We can't stay here for long, or we're going to get overrun."

"I'd like to know where our air support is." Skyrim inquired. "They can't be missing an offensive action as great as this."

His question was answered when their helicopters wiped out every Tosevite vehicle in the area they could spot. Nonetheless, they fought back as best they could, even succeeding in taking down a couple more troop carriers. Ultimately, though, those in the enemy vehicles who had not died were either surrendering or fleeing.

In spite of overwhelming odds, though, the enemy had not yet given up. Betvoss and his squad were still pinned down, even if neither group had yet inflicted a single casualty on the other. He fired a series of shots, more to keep their heads down than any realistic effort to hit them. "By the Emperor, why are they still at it?" Skyrim complained. "They can't win, yet they're still fighting us." He threw a grenade in their direction, sending grass and dirt into the air, but accomplishing nothing else.

Gradually, the gunfire decreased as the Tosevites fell back, one group moving back as the other covered them. Betvoss attempted to pursue, only to be dissuaded by machine gun fire. They knew the country better than he did and were able to make good their escape. Votal hissed in displeasure, but did not follow. The last thing he wanted was to walk into another trap.

Five landcruisers and a dozen troop carriers were either disabled or destroyed, with two helicopters and a currently unknown number of males. This was more than Betvoss believed they would take during the entire conquest and as things went, the firefight was only a taste of things to come.

XXXXXXXXXX

June 11, 1982:

"Well, this is not a satisfactory beginning." Atvar declared, looking over the reports of the first days of combat. The Race had destroyed 6,000 killercraft over the past few days, achieving air superiority. Unfortunately, they had lost nearly 1,800 of their own, close to ten percent of what they had brought with them. If he only took into account the Tosevite craft that had not been destroyed on the ground the kill ratio was only around 2.5:1.

"Truth; we have achieved air superiority." Kirel agreed. "It is fortunate that we caught many of their killercraft on the ground before they had a chance to use them." In terms of combat capability, they weren't much less advanced than what the Race had, but their range was so limited that only a percentage of them were up in the air at any given time.

"By the spirits of Emperors past, we may succeed in this conquest after all." Atvar hissed. He knew that the fighting was not over yet, but they were advancing on every front. He reluctantly gave Straha credit for his ideas in repositioning their forces to face the most advanced Big Ugly empires first before dealing with the weaker powers.

The problem was close to a dozen starships had been destroyed by the enemy's explosive metal-armed missiles; wiping them out had been expensive. After the vast majority in orbit had been intercepted or evaded, the Tosevites had come up with something more ingenious. They simply waited for the starships to land and just after they attempted to return to orbit, launched their missiles at a time when they were unable to move fast enough to get out of the sky. In numerous cases, the antimissiles, CIWS and kinetic impactors had been overwhelmed.

He informed the commanders on the ground that speed was of the utmost priority. They could not allow the Big Uglies time to recover or to launch any kind of counterattacks. Since the landing, they had already lost close to 10,000 males with three times that many wounded; a dozen times that many had died in orbit. The Tosevites had suffered much more, but they could replace their losses much more quickly. Atvar was not about to give them the chance to do so. It went against their original plan for Tosev 3, and the Race, as a rule, was not good at improvisation. He hoped his subordinates would be able to compensate for that, but while some could, he highly doubted all of them would be able to do so. Despite ample evidence, some could still not see past their eggshells, including shiplords.

"Should we begin to broadcast surrender messages?" Kirel asked. "Our researches have had some success translating their languages. Convincing at least some of them to surrender will make subduing the stubborn ones less difficult."

"No, not yet." Atvar made the negative hand gesture. "Many of them will be unable to do so in any case after what we did to their communications centers." They had brought 1,500 tactical weapons (20 kilotons), 1,350 that could be used in either tactical or strategic use (200 kilotons) and 150 purely strategic weapons (1 megaton) Atvar knew he would likely have to use more before the conquest was complete.

"It is a shame that they had only a limited effect against their military." Kirel hissed.

"Truth, but this was anticipated." Atvar replied. "With all the nuclear power plants scattered throughout the advanced empires, it was inevitable that the Big Uglies would have some concept of nuclear shielding. Emperors be praised that we decided to bring explosive metal bombs along with the conquest." Some of the cost-cutters on home had argued against it, saying that it was unnecessary, but ultimately the Race's desire for thoroughness prevailed and they were brought along.

His adjutant ran into the room on all fours, looking horrified. "Exalted Fleetlord, I have news about the conquest!" Pshing exclaimed.

Based on his behavior, Atvar realized the news couldn't be good. Nevertheless, he stated: "Speak, Pshing. What has happened?"

"I regret to inform you that... that it appears as if five more of our starships have been destroyed during the landing." Pshing looked nervous, hoping the Fleetlord would not take it out on him.

"Impossible; how could this have happened!" Atvar screamed, making his adjutant tremble. After a few moments, his head become clear and he understood that Pshing was not responsible; he was only doing his duty and telling him what he needed to hear. "Do we know how this happened?"

"While their air to air missiles are insufficient to bring down our ships, even with multiple impacts, the Big Uglies have found other methods." Pshing replied. "In 2 cases, they launched larger missiles from the ground that, assuming multiple impacts and hitting our starships in vulnerable areas, are able to bring them down. In the other three cases... the Big Uglies slammed their killercraft directly into them."

"Who would be crazy enough to do something like that?" Atvar hissed. No Male of the Race would ever deliberately kill himself that way. He was beginning to realize that the Tosevites were more different than they were than his researchers believed. "What can you tell me about casualties?"

"In four of the cases, even if our ships are irreparable, we succeeded in saving most of our males and equipment." Pshing informed, dreading what he was about to say next. "On the 5th ship, one of their killercraft slammed into our reactor, with a total loss. We have yet to find a single survivor."

Atvar was barely able to stand upright at the news. Even taking into account their rapid technological growth, he never imagined the Tosevites capable of pulling off something like that. "This will never happen again!" Atvar declared, using an empathetic cough. "Set up anti-air and anti-missile defenses, and I want constant patrols around all starships that are forced to be on the surface. Once we have unloaded all our forces, bring them back into orbit."

"It shall be done, exalted fleetlord." Pshing gave the posture of respect and skittered off.

"Emperors be praised they did not use more explosive-metal bombs." Atvar had been informed that the bombs used in orbit were thermonuclear, instead of pure fission, something that had chilled his blood.

"I believe we have successfully removed their explosive-metal bombs, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel informed.

"Once that's done, perhaps we could move our starships higher into orbit as a precaution." Atvar stated to Kirel. "I do not believe that the Tosevites will be able to hit us from such a distance, but I am not about to gamble the lives of thousands of our males on that assumption."

"It shall be done, exalted fleetlord." Kirel responded. The process would take several days to be completed, in order to avoid possible collisions. Their starships would dozens of tlocks apart, but at the speed they were orbiting, the risk was there. Eighteen starships had been destroyed in total during the landing.

But for all the difficulties they were encountering, the Race was nevertheless winning the war, at least the opening stages.


	5. Chapter 5

June 22, 1982:

"Good morning," Thomas snarked as he stretched his arms, waking up.

"It's about time you got up; you've got work in less than an hour." Melanie reminded him. _At least you've got work. _With the nation being invaded, her restaurant was rather short on supplies and they informed her that they couldn't afford to keep her around anymore. She was searching for another job, but knew that would likely be a while. Of course, they were going to have far more serious problems soon.

She heard Thomas curse after stubbing his toe in the hallway. Ever since a bright flash on light, what her brother explained to her was an EMP, electricity was hard to come by, even though they were close to fifty kilometers from the epicenter. At most, they had it for 4-5 hours each day. The aliens had landed in Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky, and Arizona. So far, their forces had been unable to score a single victory.

"Hope they'll be able to keep me around for a while." Thomas stated. "One advantage I have is that some of the dockworkers are going into the military. They're going to need all the help they can get. You have any idea where my good shoes are?" With the aliens within 30 kilometers, though, Cleveland was likely to be a warzone soon.

"Yeah, you left them under the couch." Melanie pointed them out. He quickly grabbed them and put them on, not even bothering to untie them first. Thomas grabbed a bottle of water and began to drink. At the moment, it was the only liquid they could obtain cheaply. Milk, juice, and alcohol had more than doubled in price ever since the aliens landed two weeks ago.

"They've already conquered most of Arizona, parts of New Mexico, southern half of Ohio, and part of Kentucky." Thomas sighed. "Seems like we can barely slow them down, much less stop them. Columbus fell just yesterday, I think." The military had made little effort to defend the major cities, both because they were spread throughout the country and did not have the manpower in any particular area and in an effort to spare civilian lives. "I'm thinking about joining myself, even if they wouldn't have me under ordinary circumstances."

The first response in Melanie's mind was horror. She didn't even want to think about the possibility of her brother getting wounded or killed! On the other hand, if everyone felt the same way, they'd lose the war. She remember her grandparents telling them what it was like in World War II, with almost every fit man her brother's age being shipped overseas. "If you do, I'll wish you luck." She finally managed to say.

"This is only speculation; I haven't decided." Thomas admitted. "I'm not a brave man; you of all people know that." He had a lot of talents, but was always passive and unwilling to stand up for himself. Ironically, a lot of people were also afraid of him, due to him being 6'3, eccentric, and half-black. "Still, I'm going to have to try to find some courage, however difficult it might be."

Melanie tried to change the subject, but the invasion was the only thing on everyone's mind right now. The President was trying to put the best possible spin of events, but with something like half their air force wiped out and the aliens advancing 10-15 miles a day, that was a difficult task to undertake. _The rate they're going, they could end up in Cleveland eventually. _She wished she hadn't had that thought.

"You'd better finish getting ready." Melanie told him as he grabbed his shirt and put it on. "How many hours are you working today?"

"Full shift this time around," Thomas answered. "Should be home around six or so. Let me know if you hear anything from our parents, will you?" Neither of them had heard a word since the day the aliens landed. They weren't directly in the enemy's path, at least for now, but neither of them could help but worry about what might have happened to them.

"Have a good day." Melanie stated, hugging her brother just before he walked out the door, leaving her to her own devices. Mark was there, but he was currently sawing logs, and likely wouldn't be up for at least another couple of hours.

She sat down and filled out a couple of job applications, which she hoped to be able to turn in later that day. Much as she hated doing it, they couldn't survive on a single income, especially with soaring prices. It was a slow task, even with the three candles she had set near the table. Once she was done, though, she breathed a sigh of relief and put out the candles. With only two windows, however, they had little light coming through.

Melanie looked out the window and saw a squad of soldiers patrolling the streets. She didn't expect it to do them much good if Cleveland was attacked, but there had been a sharp drop in crime ever since they arrived. She even felt safe walking around at night for the first time in years. _Isn't that a great irony? _Melanie thought. _The instant aliens invade, the city's safer than it's been in decades. _Even from her limited view, she could see at least two recruiting stations.

Having little else to do at the moment, she decided to go for a walk. At least on the surface, her neighborhood did not look too different than it did prior to the events. However, there were far fewer civilian vehicles driving around the city. Gasoline had great difficulty getting through and most of it was taken for military use. Not having a car, though, she wasn't too badly inconvenienced by it.

Melanie continued to wander, figuring that since she was no longer employed, she could at least take the time to visit her friends. She used to hang out with dozens of people back in her party days, but since she straightened up, that number had been reduced to around 5 or 6. _God, I was such an idiot back then. _She hadn't even come from a dysfunctional family, as many of her comrades did. She was bored, she felt invincible and decided to go out and have fun.

"Yeah, well, that's over." Melanie told herself. She walked the straight and narrow now. She briefly considered taking the bus to her friend's place, but the fares had tripled and she decided to save her money. The walk wasn't much more than a mile away, in any case. She accidentally bumped into a couple people, but they barely seemed to notice, much less say anything to her.

She found the apartment she was looking for and took the elevator up to the top floor. Melanie knocked on the door, wondering if Katherine was home or not. After six knocks, someone finally hoped the door. "Melanie!" Katherine screamed, hugging her tightly. "Been forever since I've seen you, girl! How have you been?" Katherine was about an inch shorter than her and considerably chubbier, but she had a smile that could light up an entire building.

"I've been all right; what about you?" Melanie smiled and laughed.

"Wishing I had power, but other than that, I'm fine." Katherine responded. "Come in, come in."

"So is your mother here?" Melanie wondered. Katherine still lived with her mother; her father abandoned her when she was an infant and never returned.

"No, she's out trying to get herself some new clothes." Katherine explained. "So how about you? Are you seeing anyone?"

"Not at the moment, no." Melanie replied. "Been a little too busy trying to keep my job to look for a man. Didn't really help me, being that I just lost my job last week; said that they couldn't afford to keep me."

"Damn; like, I'm sorry to hear that." Katherine shook her head. "How's your brother?"

"Just as much of a know-it-all as he always is." Melanie replied. "Still, he can come across something interesting every once in a while. So how's life treating you?"

"All right, I suppose." Katherine stated. "Heard they're going to start rationing food soon, though. Not looking forward to that."

"Where did you hear this?" Melanie asked.

"Oh, I heard some people at the diner talking about it, military types." Katherine replied. "Kinds of reminds me of World War II, honestly."

"Yeah, I've heard that." Melanie had always taken for granted that they won and didn't see any other way that it could end. Her parents were children at the time, though, and both of them occasionally mentioned how much fear they felt of invasion, of losing their own parents and the hardships they had to endure. "They survived it; figure we can too. We ain't weak or stupid, no matter what some people think of us."

"We'll prove them wrong, all right." Katherine agreed. Discrimination was illegal, but it didn't mean they never encountered any racism. Her brother was often passive about it, where she straight up called them on their behavior. Not that it did any good, but it made her feel better. "I'm sorry I didn't visit you earlier. Things have just been a bit hectic."

"Don't worry about it, little girl." Katherine dismissed with a wave of her hand.

"Little girl?" Melanie glared with fake indignation. "I'm only two months younger than you!"

Before Melanie could reply, a loud, piercing siren echoed through the apartment. Both covered their ears in an attempt to drown out the noise, but it did no good. It continued blaring, while both of them wondered where the hell it was coming from or what it meant.

"Wait, that's an air raid siren!" Melanie realized. She'd considered the possibility of the aliens bombing them, but didn't take it seriously until now. _Perhaps I didn't want to think about it. _

"What do we do?" Katherine demanded, appearing to be on the verge of panic. Melanie wasn't farther behind. They had minutes, maybe less, to decide on a course of action.

"Does this place have any kind of basement?" Melanie exclaimed. Not that it would do much for them, but it was better than nothing. She didn't think they had any kind of bomb shelter or fallout shelter nearby. She scrambled her brain trying to think of one and came up with a complete blank.

"Not much of one; follow me!" Katherine led the way. Dozens of others in the apartment were scrambling out as well, some of them carrying screaming children, all desperate to find whatever shelter they could before the enemy arrived. Melanie was nearly trampled by the fleeing residents and Katherine had to grab her arm in order to keep her upright.

When they arrived, Melanie saw that it was nothing more than the laundry room in the apartment. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She shrieked in horror. "This is your great idea?!"

"It's all we've got!" Katherine snapped back. "Do you have any better suggestions?" Since she didn't, Melanie grudgingly stayed put. The room was packed to the brim with worried families and she caught a few people muttering prayers under their breath. She made a quick mental prayer that both her, her brother, and Katherine would survive.

The bombs began to fall two minutes later. Each explosion felt like it was right next to them, being that Melanie had no idea how to judge how close they were. The room went dark, robbing them of what little comfort they had.

_You'll be fine, just think positive. _Melanie told herself, but holding onto hope wasn't easy in their present situation. She began to wonder if this would be how her life ended, cowering in a basement before her life even truly began.

After what seemed like an eternity, the bombing finally began to let up. Even so, they waited several minutes before leaving their makeshift bunker just in case another raid was on its way. Melanie struggled through the crowd to reach the door, trying to stave off panic. While not claustrophobic, per se, Melanie always felt uncomfortable in small, confined spaces.

She was 6th to get out, grateful that she had managed to survive. Not everyone was so lucky, although there were no reports of casualties just yet. "You ok, Mel?" Katherine asked, knowing her discomfort.

"Yeah, mostly." Melanie responded, on the whole truthfully. "May as well go see what the damage is." She knew the stories of how whenever London and other British cities were bombed, many civilians went out and did whatever they could for the dead and wounded. While having no medical training beyond some First Aid classes, she still wanted to help.

At first glance, the city didn't look too different. "Huh, would have thought we'd see rubble everywhere." Katherine remarked. So far, they had only spotted a couple pillars of black smoke.

"City's already a shit-hole; one raid isn't gonna change it that much, I suppose." Melanie responded. "Look... I better head home; parents are going to worry about me and I need to make sure my brother's all right."

"It was still good to see you, even if our visit was cut short." Katherine responded, hugging her friend. "I'll call you later, assuming the phone lines aren't down."

During her stroll home, however, the destruction began to become more apparent. Melanie was forced to take a detour when one of the roads had a giant crater in it, in addition to a pair of damaged buildings. Sirens were blaring in every direction, and she spotted an apartment complex just a quarter-mile away from her home erupting into an inferno, with firefighters trying desperately to put out the blaze.

When she arrived home, Thomas was still sitting on the couch, reading one of his many books. "Oh, I didn't hear you come in." He remarked. "How was your visit?"

Melanie stood open-mouthed at him for several moments. "How... how was my visit?" She eventually managed to stammer out. "Haven't you been paying attention, or did you not just notice the giant air raid?!"

"Yeah, I noticed it." Thomas shrugged. "Not like there was much of a place to hide; we don't even have a basement to take cover in. The subway entrances were over a mile away, and being outside seemed downright suicidal, so I stayed here and to put it bluntly, prayed I would live through it."

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?" Melanie demanded. "For all I know, you were dead, and here you are, acting like nothing happened!"

"What do you want me to say?" Thomas asked, putting his book down and getting to his feet. "I'm scared as hell, but I don't know what to do about it. Probably should've done some reading about where I can take cover." Thomas started muttering under his breath, berating himself.

"Don't even start with that," Melanie cut him off. She moved forward, hugging him tightly. "Don't do anything that stupid again, all right? I was terrified that something happened to you!"

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere." Thomas promised her. "You're my little sister and I love you... no matter how much I might want to kill you on occasion." He let her go and sighed. "They hit our power facilities and as many factories as they could locate. Wouldn't count on any electricity for the foreseeable future."

"Ha ha, very funny." Melanie rolled her eyes. They'd managed to survive the first raid. _But it won't be the last. _She was positive of that.

XXXXXXXXXX

June 28, 1982:

Corporal Alexis Bardy was beginning to wonder just how long they could hold the aliens. No, the Race; that was what they called themselves based on the few prisoners of war that they had successfully managed to take. They held far more, likely in the tens of thousands.

_Won't be long until they reach Orleans _When the Race landed, they cut off NATO from the Warsaw pact, in addition to landing on the Soviet Union's border, in effect cutting Soviet forces in Eastern Europe off from its supply chain. Not to say they were ignoring Western Europe; they had been pounding France for the past three weeks and managed to push themselves as far as the borders of Orleans. It wasn't what he was expected when he joined the military eighteen months ago at the age of 24.

Artillery fire landed in his vicinity, although fortunately not directly near him. In spite of the escalating fighting, considerably fewer civilians had died than the brass had feared. It seemed like this Race species were actually trying to minimize non-combatant casualties. _Just when you thought things couldn't get any stranger. _

In addition, he also thought that aliens would have been a lot more advanced than they were, with force fields, plasma guns, death rays, etc. Instead they fought with projectiles, same as them. More advanced, perhaps, but not as advanced as many of his fellow soldiers feared.

That's not to say things were easy. The road was clogged with refugees desperate to get away from the fighting. They knew that the lizards- Alexis refused to call them "Males of the Race" were likely to enter the city any day now and were hoping to get to what they thought was safety. That safety was also likely to be temporary. At the rate they were going, all of France would be swallowed up in a month or so.

"Think there's any chance we can persuade them to stop clogging the roads?" Luigi Menotti wondered. He may have been Italian, but he spoke French fluently. While focusing mostly on their own defense, Italy had sent two divisions into France in order to assist them.

Alexis shook his head: "They're scared and likely hungry; I wouldn't count on it." France had seen war come to its borders for the third time in a century. The lizards seemed all but unstoppable at the moment; little wonder they were fleeing.

Alien aircraft flew over the city, bombing whatever vehicles they could find. Alexis immediately hit the ground, having no time to flee to a bomb shelter. He tried to stay away from any large vehicles in order to maximize his chances for survival. "Bastards!" he swore, rolling onto his back and firing his FAMAS in their direction. It did absolutely no good, as he knew very well, but it did help him feel more secure.

He spotted a pair of Belgians firing MANPAD missiles in their direction. Every so often, they got lucky and shot an alien aircraft down. The Race had destroyed most of their mobile SAMs, but handheld missile launchers were apparently a surprise that they didn't prepare for. This time, they weren't so lucky.

_We'd be a lot better off if they hadn't caught so much of our air force on the ground. _Alexis sighed. Once they learned invasion was imminent, they tried to keep as many of their aircraft flying as they possible could, not wanting to be caught with their pants down. Unfortunately, it ended up happening anyway because of the lizard fighters far superior range.

"Are you all right?" Menotti asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Alexis responded, pushing himself back to his feet. He had a couple aches and pains from diving onto the cement, but they had far bigger concern. It was time to assess the damage. The roads had some giant craters in them, in addition to many APCs and jeeps destroyed. Alexis only hoped their occupants were able to escape them in time.

_Now that the raid's over, I'm back to being a glorified traffic cop. _Alexis thought.He and every other soldier in Frankfurt were trying to keep some kind of order with invasion imminent. Personally, he wasn't all that optimistic about stopping them, but knew better than to vocalize his concerns aloud.

Once the refugees were convinced that the raid was indeed over, they continued to head to makeshift shelters that the city had set up for them. So far, their casualties had been minimal; the Race had apparently figured out what the Red Cross symbolized.

Alexis decided to walk back to their makeshift base. Going by jeep would be quicker, but it also made him a tempting target for any lizard pilot flying over the area. Most vehicles that were still on the road were military vehicles. With the Middle East almost completely conquered and the United States invaded, they had next to none. Even supplying their trucks and tanks was sometimes difficult.

About an hour later, he reported to base. There was another brief artillery barrage and some counter-battery fire, but the combined NATO armies were saving as much as they could for when the lizards made their big push. "Reporting for duty!" Alexis declared, immediately saluting.

"At ease!" The base commander declared. "You are currently dismissed until 0700 hours tomorrow; understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Alexis stated again and walked to the barracks. He noticed some recent bomb damage, but it had been quickly patched up. _Ought to put it in a less conspicuous place, _Alexis thought, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Once he walked in, he decided to join a game of poker. He lost more than he won, but knew better than to gamble more than he can afford to. "Let's see how much of your money I can win from you this time."

"Your overconfidence will be your downfall." Alexis laughed. They all knew that Fredrick Bauer was the best poker player in the merged unit, maybe even of the city. Alexis heard that he'd made a year's pay off playing in just a month. That might have been an exaggeration, but probably not by much.

Nevertheless, Alexis managed to win two hands, one of them with a full house. The rest of Fredrick's players started laughing and jeering at him. He chuckled back; part of the reason people kept playing with him in spite of how much money he lost was that he was a good sport when he did lose. "You lucky son of a bitch." Fredrick laughed, pretending he was actually unhappy. "Suppose even you have to win once in a while."

"Stop being a sore loser." Alexis rolled his eyes, dealing the cards. Thomas won the next hand and Fredrick the next three. The other three players, Alexis had yet to learn their names.

"Cough up the green, suckers!" Thomas Green laughed as he raked in the most recent pot. He was one of the U.S. soldiers stationed in Germany. Originally, they were going to withdraw most of them to protect their home, but after all their allies protested, they agreed to leave most of them there.

"Damn yanks; SOBs are robbing me blind." Alexis sighed.

"Hey, if it wasn't for us, you'd all be speaking German!" Green laughed. One of the others, Lawrence Jones, won the next round of poker, and wholeheartedly agreed with Green's statement.

"Hey, shut the hell up!" Alexis snapped, a flash of anger entering his brain. It was a sensitive subject for many and he was no exception. He was also rather tired of British and especially American arrogance. "I get real tired of you bastards rubbing that in our face!"

"Jeez, calm down; it was just a joke." Green told him. Alexis stormed off, grabbing the few francs he had managed to win and decided to find something else to do.

After a minute, Alexis began to realize that he might have acted a bit too rashly. Yes, it was a joke, however much it rankled him. Still, it wasn't as if he'd never heard it before, and while he was never pleased to hear it, he'd never exploded the way he had just a few minutes prior.

_I'll have to apologize to him later. _Alexis thought. _Stress is starting to get to me and I haven't even entered combat yet. _He'd never experienced it himself, but his father and one of his uncles had participated both the Indochina and Algeria campaigns. It made him wonder just what was in store for him, if just occasional air raids and artillery fire had him this on edge.

"Least I'm better off than Louis." Alexis sighed. That was the last of his grandparents, who had died when the lizards detonated EMP blasts into the atmosphere. His pacemaker had short-circuited and his death quickly followed. _One of many. _The death toll from those blasts in France were not known, but were estimated to be between 50,000 and 80,000. _Another thing to pay back these damn aliens for. _

Even though he knew he should get some sleep, Alexis was unable to shut his body down. Fear filled his mind about what was going to happen next; whether when the time came, he would be brave or a cowardly. His grandparents informed him that you never really knew, not until you were actually in the middle of it.

And there was an even more important question: whether he would live or die.

XXXXXXXXXX

June 29, 1982:

Andrei spent most of his time pouring over maps and reports of the alien advance. Thus far, Soviet forces had been unable to stop them. Hurt them, yes, but not enough to halt their advance. Large portions of the southern half were already in their hands, though partisans were making life rather difficult for them.

The latest briefing was a request from the Middle Eastern nations, politely asking for (I.E. begging on bended knee) for munitions so they could more successfully resist the alien advance. _Idiots; they deserve this for being so careless and stupid. _While most of the world prepared themselves for the inevitable, the Middle East had not, declaring that their statements were lies. They were paying dearly for it now. The two countries that did prepare, Israel and Jordan, were also the only ones in the region to fight the aliens with any measure of success.

Currently, they had nothing to spare for anyone. The Soviet Union was having a hard enough time simply supplying their own troops. Their EMPs had knocked out a lot of their factories and it was going to take time to be able to fully repair them. Their nuclear weapons silos had been hit, neutralizing many of their ground missiles. They were forced to destroy whatever they were unable to take to deny their use to the enemy, something that had occurred all over the world. The U.S. and the U.S.S.R still had plenty left over, but Britain, France, China, and India lost most of their land and air based thermonuclear weapons; the former three still had second strike capability, but India was at a stronger disadvantage.

_ Time we don't have, _Andrei understood. Their forces in Eastern Europe were completely trapped between two armies. To make matters worse, some individuals were evidently deciding that living under the Race was preferable to living under the Soviet Union. All known collaborators had been killed as a warning, but if anything, that only seemed to make matters worse.

One thing they did have to their advantage, however, was their tactical inexperience. Reports from his fellow generals and stories from the men under his command indicated that they followed plans very well, but were not good at improvising when things go wrong. "No plan survives contact with the enemy." Andrei said to himself.

Still, their damn air superiority made that a difficult weakness to exploit. They controlled the skies, with the Politburo deciding to reserve their remaining aircraft for when they could be used with effective results. It was a wise strategy, but at the present time, it made things very difficult for them. Anti-aircraft missiles claimed some alien craft, but it wasn't enough to use the bombardment.

For that matter, it was likely that they would have to evacuate Almaty soon. The aliens were getting uncomfortably close to the city his division was currently residing in. Partisans were slowing them down, but their best was not likely to be enough.

Local counterattacks were being prepared, which gave him some reason to hope they could be held back, but Andrei personally found that unlikely. He would have retreated already if it wasn't for the fact that his superiors ordered him to stay and fight to the last man to defend the city. Even with the numerous setbacks they were suffering, some Soviet generals seemed unaware that they were facing aliens, not NATO.

His adjutant walked into his room and saluted, looking nervous. Andrei instantly realized that whatever he had to say was not going to be good news. "What is it?" He demanded. _This had better be good. _He meant.

Yuri Smirnov gulped again and his fingers tugged against his collar. Andrei was just about to scream when he finally answered. "Some of Almaty's residents are protesting, demanding independence for the Kazakh Soviet Socialist Republic. Our soldiers are currently monitoring them closely, but..."

There was no need to finish that sentence. Nobody there wanted to act against the protest without orders from him. Andrei thought carefully for a few seconds. Warning them to disperse or die was the first thing that came to mind. He was about to give the order to do just that when he stopped himself. He knew many wanted independence and while brutality was often the first resort, Andrei realized that it could back fire on them. Almaty was on the verge of falling to the aliens as things stood; the last thing he needed was willing traitors to mankind inside the city.

"Just watch them for now, and have intelligence discover whether they plan to subvert our defenses to the imperialist alien aggressors." Andrei finally decided. "If they turn violent, however, you are authorized to use lethal force." Smirnov saluted and ran back to relay his orders.

_Hopefully, that's one problem solved._ Andrei thought. He'd never have guessed that some would actually prefer aliens to humans, at least until he remembered that during the Great Patriotic War, many greeted the Nazis as liberators, at least until they showed what kind of beasts they really were. Still, he could sense trouble brewing.

More bombs hit the city, some of them within a hundred meters of his headquarters. Andrei spent most of his time in a bunker underground; he knew he would be unable to run and duck for cover if his headquarters was hit on the surface. Just standing up was difficult enough for his mangled body.

Thankfully, the bunker held; he wouldn't be around to think if it hadn't Andrei let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. He looked over the maps again. The city was not going to be held, not with the kind of numbers the aliens were sending towards them. Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan had already fallen to their advance. If Almaty was captured, Kazakhstan would be opened to them.

_At least they're lousy tacticians, _Andrei thought, which was why they were still holding, even if barely. He had already ordered some of his troops out of the city and into the mountains in order to have enough equipment left to harass them in the mountains once Almaty fell. His superiors had not given him the order, but the Red Army was not as inflexible as it had been under Stalin.

His adjutant rushed in again, looking to be on the verge of panic. _Green boy's never seen real fighting before. _Andrei sneered. "General, the enemy's cut the 35th Armored division off and is beginning to assault the city itself!" _Bozhemoi! _

"Tell the 35th to stand firm and hold out as long as they can; that should buy us some time." Andrei ordered. He wrote them off for dead with only a slight twinge of conscience. There was a war going on, after all.

As he turned around, however, he saw a pair of KGB agents waiting for him with their hands folded behind their back. Andrei forced himself to suppress the instinctive fear he felt at their very presence. _What could they possibly want with me? _Andrei worried. Things weren't nearly as brutal as they were under Stalin, but it wasn't unheard of for officers to suddenly disappear in the middle of the night. He had served the Soviet Union his entire life, but knew how little that meant if Breznev decided he needed to be liquidated. "And what can I do for you, comrades?" Andrei asked, proud of himself for keeping any hint of fear out of his voice.

"You are to leave immediately." The first agent responded. "A replacement for you on this front has already been picked out."

"And where are you sending me?" Andrei demanded, considering simply taking out his pistol and shooting them, blaming their deaths on the artillery barrages.

"We require your talents elsewhere." The second responded. Andrei relaxed a little, though not much. "The General Secretary has ordered that you be sent to a secure location immediately in order to coordinate resistance plans against the aliens."

"Where is this facility?" Andrei asked, but knew it was a foolish question as soon as the words left his lips. Not only would they not tell him, it was quite likely that they didn't know. Now mostly convinced that he was being transferred, not liquidated, he decided to follow orders, although he kept his weapon with him just in case he was wrong. Not that it would do much good, he knew, but it gave him a feeling of security.

In less than an hour, he had boarded a plane. He was able to muster enough strength to walk up there without assistance, something Andrei was personally proud of. It was a small civilian aircraft in hopes that the aliens would not detect such a primitive machine in the skies. Soon after he boarded, everyone cleared the way for takeoff, with Andrei wondering just what he had gotten himself into.

XXXXXXXXXX

June 29, 1982:

_Are they actually serious about this? _Samal Barzani asked himself with disbelief. Did they really think he was going to be willing to speak to them after everything that had happened?

He had never even considered being a leader when he was younger, not believing he had the capability, but over the years, he had somehow taken charge of several hundred members of the Peshmerga in their struggle for independence and, he was forced to admit to himself, revenge. Barzani had nothing left to lose since four years ago when Saddam had his entire family slaughtered, and he knew most of the men under his command had similar experiences.

"This has got to be a trap for us." One of the men responded, voicing the opinion of a substantial amount of his men. Thus far, the Iraqis had yet to root them out in the mountains and he was aware that this could be one such method of doing so.

But another part of his mind doubted it. Ever since the aliens landed, the world's priorities had shifted. While the superpowers had been able to fight back more effectively, it was a different story for the Middle Est. Barzani knew the information he last received was days old, but much of Saudi Arabia and Qatar was under their control, as was the Sinai in Egypt, and many parts of Iran, meaning that it had become quite difficult to obtain weapons.

Like many others in the region, he thought the reports from NATO and the Soviet Union that aliens were on their way to be mere fantasy, only to be proven disastrously wrong. _Allah give me guidance, give me strength. _Barzini prayed as he made his decision. His men watched, waiting for the order to approach or open fire. Even at a glance, he could see which decision they were hoping for.

"I will approach them," Barzini eventually decided. "I will go alone in order to see what they want from us. If I do not reappear, assume the worst and disappear."

"You're going alone?" One of them demanded in horror. "Allow me the honor of going with you. I cannot in good conscience let you go alone into the serpent's den."

"Thank you, Diyari, but I will not risk any more lives than necessary." Barzini proclaimed, but many of his men were demanding to come with him for security. He was eventually forced to capitulate and took a dozen of his best men with him, AK-47s in their hands. _I hope this is legitimate, _Barzini hoped, his eyes searching the area for planes. Having some of his men with him made him feel a little safer, but knew their small force could do nothing if the Iraqis decided to kill them.

They were greeted at the pre-arranged meeting point with an army 100 times their number and half a dozen T-72s. Barzini recognized them as members of the Republican Guard and it took every bit of self-control he had not to simply open fire at the sight of them, even if such an action would be suicidal. A group of similar size approached, their nervous look giving Barzini a slight grin.

They stopped twenty meters away from Barzini's group and their commander broke away from the group. Barzini did the same, reminding himself that shooting him down on the spot would be unwise. "What do you want with us?" He spat, not caring about diplomatic niceties.

"We're here to discuss terms of... a truce, in light of our changed circumstances." The Republican Guard commander responded, a smirk on his face.

"Why should I discuss anything with you?" Barzini snarled. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you where you stand."

"If you're foolish enough to kill me, we'll wipe out your entire group." The commander sneered. "You think we don't know where your men are hiding? Our aircraft have been watching you for days."

"And if you kill me, we'll resume our attacks and our resistance against you." Barzini warned. "I doubt any reports of Iraqi victories have any truth in them whatsoever, and you really don't need another enemy right now." Both of their hands went to their pistols, their legs in a cross position, waiting to see what the other would do.

Several tense seconds lasted before the commander finally let go of his weapon. "All right, I believe you make a certain amount of sense." He sighed, obviously regretting his words. "We have more important concerns at the moment." Barzini did not miss the significance of his last words, although he wasn't exactly surprised.

"So... what do you want us to do?" Barzini asked. "And what do we get in return?" Absently, he wondered if the aliens could be any worse than what his people had already suffered.

"We want your raids and attacks to end immediately." He demanded. He took a deep breath and added. "In return, we will... cease our operations in your territory and fight the common enemy. These terms come from the president himself."

Barzini thought it over, mentally discussing the pros and cons. In the end, though, he decided: "So long as you up hold your part of the agreement, we will uphold ours. If you want us to cooperate, you will cease you atrocities against our people, which is continuing even at the present time. Do not try to deny it; it is no use."

Much to his relief, the Republican Guard commander didn't. He would have much preferred dealing with an Iraqi general. That would be difficult, but some of them were simply men who were loyal to their country, regardless of who controlled it at the moment. "Perhaps negotiations will need to continue." The commander responded. "The terms will need to discussed at higher levels."

"I will go back and give the terms to my men." Barzini declared. They nodded, not foolish enough to try and stop him. Part of him was hoping they would give him the excuse he wanted to kill them all. Most of him was pleased that he would not be going into another battle, at least for today. Even so, he could not help but nervously look back a couple times to see what they would try.

Needless to say, they were less than happy about the proposal. Despite training and painful experience to stay quiet, Barzini believed that anyone within ten kilometers would be able to pinpoint their location now. "Quiet!" He screamed. He only rarely lost his temper, so he managed to get their attention despite being a physically small man, only just 5'4. "I am no happier about this than you, but we have bigger problems right now! For the moment, we will cooperate with them."

"You would forgive the monsters who burned our villages and killed everyone they could?!" A voice demanded.

"I would never forgive them for their crimes!" Barzini screamed. Despite his experience, his leadership was informal and if enough of them decided to focus on the Iraqis... "Must I remind you again of what they did to my family? Nevertheless, we will cooperate with them... for now." _But we'll get our revenge for everything you've done to us; count on it._


	6. Chapter 6

August 1, 1982:

Rafael grabbed every water bottle that he could get his hands on, cleaning them out as best he could and filling them to the brim. He was in such haste that he repeatedly spilled it onto himself. "Mom, where's the waterproof tape?" He asked her, sealing as many as he could with lids and throwing them into his backpack.

The aliens were already on the edge of Los Angeles county, and few people, including his family, wanted to be there when they arrived in the city itself. Horror stories were spreading everywhere, tales of torture, mass executions, and worse. Had Rafael been older, he might have realized that many of the tales were untrue, but to his fourteen year old mind, they meant he had to get out as soon as he could.

"Here you go, and hurry up." His mother demanded of him. "We're leaving as soon as your father gets home." Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anytime lately. What little food she still had was given to her children. "Here are a couple more lids."

"Thanks, Mom." Rafael responded, hastily sealing up the water bottles. He gulped down almost an entire bottle, coughing and choking as he did so. They had been without air conditioning for months, and without it, at risk of heatstroke. His parents demanded he drink close to three quarts a day, even on occasions where he wasn't thirsty.

"Mama, I found the First Aid Kit!" Bianca proclaimed, holding it up proudly. Both she and her sister were wearing their school backpacks in order to carry supplies. Not ideal, but it was all they had.

Rafael was more terrified than he could ever remember being. He put on a brave face, not wanting to frightening his younger sisters, but on multiple occasions, he had broken down crying where nobody could see him. _Be brave, damn it! _He told himself. He wasn't used to hunger, he wasn't used to going without so many things that he had once taken for granted.

His mother stuck the first aid kit in Bianca's backpack, telling her not to lose it. "Mama, this backpack is too heavy!" Nena complained.

"All right, let me see." Evelyn moved to her back, rummaging through it. She sighed and threw out most of the contents. "Nena, you can't bring your toys with you. We're only bringing food and water and that's it!"

"I want my dinosaur!" Nena complained, screaming. "I want Victoria!"

"No, and that's final!" Evelyn snapped, the stress of evacuating getting to her. She stuffed more water into their backpack, as many bottles as her two daughters could carry.

Rafael's muscles were already beginning to hurt from the lifting he was doing. He grabbed a couple of spare sets of clothes, before realizing: "Mom, what about my old wagon? Couldn't we carry more stuff on that?"

"You're right!" Evelyn suddenly realized. "I forgot we still had that thing! Yes, get that out; it'll make this much easier."

_Where is that thing? _Rafael wondered, checking his closet. He had forgotten about it himself until a minute. Shoving all the junk out of the way, he picked it up and set it down in the main room. "Where's Father?" He worried; he should have been back over an hour ago.

"He'll be back soon," Evelyn tried to reassure, grabbing what little food they still had and hoisting it into the wagon. "Is the backpack too heavy for you, sweetie?"

"I'm fine, Mom." Actually, he was in considerable pain, but Rafael knew he had to be brave for the rest of the family. There was at least thirty-five pounds of equipment in there.

"I found the flashlight, Mommy!" Nena smiled, holding it up proudly. "I'm going to see if there are any extra batteries."

"I'll pull the wagon, like when Rafael used to push us around." Bianca offered, which was a fond memory of both the twins.

"Okay, just don't push yourselves too hard." Rafael replied with some concern. They looked less worried than both him and his parents. Neither of them knew just yet how dangerous things were. At least for now, it looked just like one big adventure.

"Rafael, start getting this stuff into the truck... and be careful." Evelyn ordered. He ran out as quickly as he could. There were few people left in their apartment; most had already fled. He bit his lip to keep from crying out in back; his back was screaming over the extra weight.

The trunk was already open, and he hoisted the backpack inside with all his might, grunting as he did so. Rafael grabbed one of the water bottles and took a deep drink. "How long can this shit last?" Rafael worried. It looked impressive, but from what little he knew about evacuations, it wouldn't last the family for more than a couple of days.

Speaking of family... he was worried about his grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. The phones were still out and there was no way to contact family members who lived outside of the city. As for those who lived in Los Angeles County... he had spoken to his abuela just a few days ago, who had told him not to worry about them.

_"Don't worry, I'll get them out."_ His father had promised him, trying to sooth his concern. His paternal parents lived in Anaheim, and he was hoping that they could get them out before they left the city. "Please, God, get them out of there." Rafael prayed.

After stacking things as neatly as he could, keeping any water from spilling, he walked back up the stairs, bumping into a frantic neighbor with two suitcases. She uttered no apology, or indeed, any acknowledgement that Rafael had even existed. Normally, he would have snapped at her, but he was just as panicked and frightened as she was.

When he arrived back at the apartment, he saw that his sister and mother were all but finished with packing everything that they intended to take with them. "How much food do we have?" Nena asked.

"We have enough," Evelyn promised. His sisters didn't notice the non-committal response, but Rafael did. If she wasn't saying how much they had, it was probably a bad sign.

"What do we have left?" Rafael wondered, stretching his back out to try and reduce the pain; success was limited.

"Just a few more cans of food and a few blankets." Evelyn explained. "It still gets cool at night and... we're going to be gone for a long time." For the first time, Bianca and Nena actually looked worried. Unpleasant as the area often was, it was still home to them. "Bianca, carry some of these cans. Nena, help your brother carry the wagon down the stairs. I need to make sure we didn't miss anything."

"Can I go for a ride with you?" Nena asked the instant his mother was out of earshot.

"All right, but hold on tight and make sure none of the food falls onto the floor." Rafael ordered, his sister cheering in response. However tired he might have been, if this helped her take her mind of their dangerous situation, it would be worth it. With all his strength, he pulled the wagon, carefully going down the stairs.

"Mama said you can't do that!" Bianca protested, partially out of jealousy. "She said we can only carry food in there!"

"We are carrying food," Rafael reminded, the wagon nearly getting out of his control on the third floor. By now, only a handful were left in the apartment complex, so there was little risk of running into anyone. He sped up slightly, hoping his sister would be able to stay in the wagon. Nena kept screaming "Whee!" as he once again made the descent down to the parking lot.

His hand subconsciously went down to his pocket, where he was carrying a small switchblade. Technically illegal, but Rafael knew that in conditions like this, there were all sorts of dangerous people out there willing to steal and kill. Even without the sun beating on him inside the indoor parking lot, he was covered in sweat and could barely see. He slowly set the remaining items in the trunk, panting heavily.

Rafael lowered his head so neither of the twins would see him cry. He had always found them bothersome, going out of his way not to interact with them. Now that there was a real possibility that they could end up dead, he regretted all of his previous behavior. _God, if you let me live, I promise I'll treat them better. _He prayed, hoping he would receive an answer.

"Is something going to happen to us?" Bianca asked, her previous bratty behavior gone.

"No, no, we'll be fine." Rafael lied. "We've just got to leave home for a while." He might have only been fourteen, but he was old enough to understand there was a good possibility that all of them could end up dead. There had been repeated air raids on the city, bombing everything the aliens considered vital, making the evacuation even more difficult.

"Where's Papa?" Nena demanded. "He promised he would be back at three o'clock. It is now 4:58." She pointed at her wristwatch for emphasis.

"I don't know, but I'm sure he'll be back soon." Rafael told him, sharing a water bottle with the two of them, making sure to keep them apart. They might have been extremely close, but it didn't mean that the two of them didn't fight.

"Can I have a wagon ride, please?" Bianca pleaded with him. "Please? You gave Nena one!"

By this point, Rafael was utterly exhausted, but he had great difficulty saying no. "All right, but just for a few minutes, and we're going inside right afterward." He took a few deep breaths, gulped down another water bottle, and began to pull.

His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored them, his sister's happiness more important at the moment. Rafael's goal of keeping their minds off the alien invasion appeared to be succeeding, at least for the moment.

That is, until an air raid siren interrupted them. "Come on, follow me!" Rafael ordered and for once, the two of them moved without protest. Neither one of them were very frightened; it had become a familiar sound over the past two weeks. (Air raids were not uncontested, due to the missile batteries around the cities and aircraft from the carriers that were patrolling the coast, but even so, Los Angeles had taken a lot of damage)

The three of them hid near the staircase, making themselves as small of a target as possible. Rafael held his sisters closely, not wanting either of them to wander off. Bianca was trembling, but managed to hold back her tears. It would only be a matter of minutes before it began.

"At least we're inside," Rafael tried to remind himself of that. Even with maximum effort, a lot of the evacuees would be trapped outside, where they were sitting ducks. He saw dozens of people trying to shove themselves through the door; so panicked was the crowd that it was all but impossible to get inside.

The first explosions began to be heard just as the first of the crowd managed to get indoors. One unfortunate man tripped and fell and was promptly crushed to death by dozens of frightened civilians. Rafael covered his ears, not wanting to hear the man's dying screams.

It was desperately crowded inside the room, with close to a hundred people and their suitcases packed inside the ground floor. Some sat on the stairs, while parents held their terrified children. More outside were trying to force their way in. Some continued to push, while others decided to look elsewhere for shelter.

At least at first, none of the bombs came anywhere near his home. Distantly, Rafael could hear the rumbling of American jets challenging the lizards for dominance. "You hear that?" Rafael gave a fake smile to his sisters. "We'll be fine; we've got planes of our own protecting us."

It was extremely cramped, with everyone doing what they could to keep themselves calm, especially as the explosions grew closer. Missile batteries were heard in the distance, along with the sound of destroyed planes; whether they belonged to Americans or lizards, he couldn't tell; he hoped for the latter, but feared the former.

In total, the raid lasted less than fifteen minutes, but each moment dragged on for an eternity. Once the sirens blasted the all-clear noise, everyone hesitantly got to their feet, intending on continuing their evacuation.

"Did they blow up any roads?" Bianca asked loudly; her ears were still ringing from the noise.

"Come on, I have to check something before we go back." Rafael instructed, not wanting to leave them by themselves. He hoped he was worrying over nothing, but knew he had to make sure.

In the chaos of the air raid, their car had been broken into and most of their supplies stolen. Rafael swore under his breath, wondering what the hell they were going to do now. _Don't panic, maybe they didn't get everything. _He told himself, trying to quell the sinking feeling in his heart. Maybe there was enough to get out of the city.

He took off his shirt and wrapped it around his arm to brush the glass off of the driver's seat. Rafael looked in the back and saw that just about everything had been taken. Their blankets, their cooler, their canned food. The only supplies that had been overlooked were three cans of green beans and two bottles of water that had rolled under the front seats.

Checking the trunk, he noticed that it had been forced open too. There, the thieves were not as thorough, leaving two small bags of food and their tupperware containers of water. Nonetheless, it had left them with very little to get by with, perhaps a day's worth of supplies.

"We're fucked!" Bianca complained.

"Don't tell mom that," Rafael rebuked. He was going to have to inform her, though. They slowly walked up the stairs, wishing that the elevator was working.

Evelyn immediately hugged them tightly when Nena opened the door. "You're all right, thank god!" She smiled, shaking slightly. "When their planes came, I was terrified something had happened to you three!"

"Mama, thieves took all our stuff!" Nena announced. They waited to see what she would say in response.

Rafael expected her to yell, curse, or even cry. Instead, Evelyn's face went completely blank. She collapsed onto the chair, seemingly unaware of everything going on around her. The twins tried to get her attention, but none of their cries and pleas did any good. Her eyes stared at the ceiling as she slumped, at least whispering: "We'll wait until your father gets home; maybe he brought us something."

_In other words, we're not going anywhere. _Rafael sighed; that was what he was afraid of. Even if they did get out of the city before the aliens arrived, which was far from a guarantee, where were they going to go? The government wouldn't be able to house millions of refugees for months or years, especially with a war on.

It was close to three hours before his father returned home, by which point it was nearly dark. Rafael found it strange looking at the city without its characteristic glow. His father had a black eye and was moving as if he was in considerable pain. "I wasn't able to find any food." Edwardo explained. "The stores have been completely cleaned out. Fortunately, we've got enough here to last us three or four days, enough time to get to the Red Cross stations."

"No, Papa, we don't." Rafael shook his head. "After the raid, some people took most of our stuff that we had waiting in the car. I don't know who they were; by the time I get... got there, they were gone."

"Well, f... we're going to have to figure something else out, then." Edwardo declared. "The lizards have reached Anaheim, although their progress seems to be slowing. The roads are packed with buses, trains, trucks, cars, anything you can think off. With so many roads out of the city gone, it'll be weeks before everything can leave. I've only heard some of this stuff secondhand, but I saw the broken roads with my own eyes."

"I'm glad you're back!" Bianca smiled, hugging him tightly along with her sister.

"How much food do we have?" Edwardo asked, getting straight to the point.

"Maybe... maybe a day, if we're careful." Evelyn spoke at last. "The pumps are still working, so we've got water, but..." She stopped there, not wanting to worry her children, but they were able to fill in the gaps for themselves.

"We'll figure something out." Edwardo promised. Rafael wasn't sure what they could do through. "They're bringing in soldiers and supplies by ship, which should up get more people out."

"Are we leaving or not?" Rafael asked; neither choice at this point was a very pleasant one. Either way, he had a sinking feeling that he was going to learn what hunger actually felt like. Although the family had always been poor, he had never been undernourished .

"That's a good question." Edwardo mused, weighing his options. "We have maybe three days before the aliens get here, unless our soldiers come up with some kind of miracle. Do we have anything left?"

"About a day's worth of food," Evelyn responded. "I... I don't think we're going to be able to make it out. Are those stories of massacres true?"

"I don't know, but I'd rather not wait around and find out." Edwardo rubbed his temple. He hoped his parents were still alive in Anaheim; there was nothing he could do for them now.

"Maybe we could try getting out by ship," Rafael suggested. "I heard they're taking people out of the city in those troopships."

"Good thinking, son." Edwardo smiled at him.

"What about Uncle Alonso and Aunt Olivia?" Bianca worried.

"Uncle Alonso has... decided to fight; Aunt Olivia and your cousins began getting out of here last night." Evelyn informed them. She wished they had been able to get through and assist them, but it was impossible to fight through all of the massive crowds.

"We're going to die, aren't we?" Nena blurted out.

"Don't ever say that," Evelyn rebuked. "We'll find a way out of this, I promise." She knelt down and hugged her daughter.

_I wish I could believe it, _Rafael admitted. He gathered up what little they still had, preparing to make yet another trip down the stairs. "Where are we going, Papa?" He asked.

"Wherever the ships are transporting us," Edwardo responded.

"Honey, can I talk to you for a minute?" Evelyn asked, dragging him into their bedroom. The instant the door shut, Rafael, Nena, and Bianca immediately followed them and pressed their ears against the edge of the door.

None of them could make out everything, but they heard their mother ask: "Edward, are you sure this is a good idea? Do you even know if it's true?"

"You have any better suggestions?" Edwardo snapped at her, making the twins gasp. "No way in hell are we going to travel fast enough, fighting our way through millions of people, to get out in time. I saw... you don't want to know what I say. Half the roads out of the city are dead, and all the refugee centers are going to be overwhelmed with people. They may not even have anything for us. This is our best shot!"

"It's twenty miles to the docks." Evelyn reminded. "It'll take us all night to travel that distance, even assuming we can get there at all. Maybe we can get the children out... even if we can't go with them."

"We can't tell the kids just how much danger we're actually in." Edwardo sighed. "Shit, if we still had our supplies, we'd have a chance, but not anymore. There's not an ounce of food coming into the city now."

"You think they don't know?" Evelyn reminded. "They're not dumb. I'm trying to keep a brave face, but I'm just as terrified as they are. All right, what are our options?" She paused for a few moments before answering. "We can try and get out, risking getting bombed or murdered, or dying of hunger and thirst. Or we can buckle down and stay here, hoping all those rumors of mass murdering aliens are just false."

"Are we leaving or staying?" Nena asked.

"I don't know yet." Rafael whispered back. "I'm trying to listen." Even if they managed to use the main roads out of the city, there was little more than desert ahead of them. There would be nothing to eat, nothing to drink, and no emergency services if they ran into trouble.

"We'll try and use the ships in the harbor, all right?" Edwardo stated. "If that doesn't work... we'll find something else."

Once the trio heard the door begin to open, they immediately moved back to their previous position and pretended that they hadn't heard a word of their conversation. "Come on, we're leaving." Evelyn declared, not leaving any room for argument. "It's going to take a while, but we will get out of here."

"Son, do you still have that... gift I gave you?" Edwardo asked, referring to his blade.

"Yes, Papa." He nodded, fingering it in his pocket.

"Look after your sisters; keep them in your sight at all times, understand?" Edwardo ordered him sternly.

"I can take care of myself!" Bianca responded indignantly.

"So can I!" Nena added.

"Have you got everything?" Evelyn asked, picking up a few bedsheets. "All right, when we get in the car, I don't want any arguing or wandering off. Everything will still be here when we get back."

_But will we? _Rafael wondered to himself, but followed.

"Shush," Bianca whispered at Rafael when he coughed and breathed too loudly for her liking.

XXXXXXXXXX

August 10, 1982:

"They don't look so tough from here, do they?" Betvoss remarked as a couple hundred Big Uglies marched into custody, hands over their heads. All their soldiers kept a careful eye on them, warning them not to try anything foolish. So far, the prisoners hadn't, but with the way they were fighting, nobody could afford to take any chances.

"Another city block taken; just a couple hundred more to go." Premas remarked. As if to prove his point, more artillery shells hit the area. Throughout the commotion, Betvoss could hear some of his fellow males screaming in agony. It reminded them of just how stubborn the Big Uglies had proven themselves to be.

Betvoss and every other male in the area immediately hit the ground, while their killercraft hunted down and destroyed as many Big Ugly strongholds as they could find. They wouldn't get them all, however; constant firefights had already proved that many times over. The only good thing about it was that there were not enough of the enemy to hold the city for long.

"We'd better keep moving." Skyrim declared. "Don't want any of them sneaking up on us." Even in parts of the city the Race supposedly held, ambushes were frequent. Intelligence had yet to discover just how they were able to appear and slip away at a moment's notice, and interrogations had not helped any.

Betvoss' eye turrets scanned every corner, every building. Any of them could hold hostile big uglies. Any civilian could suddenly start shooting at them; a few accidents had already happened where he had accidentally killed an unarmed alien. They may not have known the Emperor's name and were thus savage, but he did not like to take a life if there was no reason for it.

"Wonder how far we can push them back today." Votal wondered. Unlike the others, he sounded as if he was looking forward to it. He had recently been shot in the chest, but his body armor saved his life, even if his ribcage was fractured afterwards. The Race had only six thick rib bones, in contrast to the Tosevites. It took a couple weeks for him to recover, but the instant he did, his superiors sent him back. "We'll show them this planet is ours!"

"We'll see action again soon enough." Betvoss promised, making sure to look around in all directions. Not paying attention had almost gotten him killed the first day he arrived in the city and he was not about to make a similar mistake. Most windows had been shattered or boarded up, but even through the carnage, there was still plenty of life around.

The group stayed together. Individuals who wandered off had a nasty tendency to end up dead. The Race's retaliation did nothing to dissuade them. He had heard rumors that some commanders were going to implement a policy of shooting ten Big Uglies for every Male of the Race injured, twenty for each one dead. Betvoss hoped that it would at least reduce the number of guerilla attacks.

Later that day, they got the order to advance again. Big Uglies still controlled the northern half of the city, even though they were surrounded and without hope of escape. Fortunately, they were not spearheading the advance. Betvoss had gotten a look at the males who were, most of whom looked considerably less than enthusiastic.

More artillery sent his squad scrambling for cover. "Haven't they run out of those accursed shells by now?" Skyrim complained, pushing himself back to his feet.

"That does not appear to be the case." Premas replied without the slightest hint of irony. Their killercraft had wiped out most of their mortars, but the few the Big Uglies still had were well-concealed and difficult to root out.

"They will not be able to keep up this resistance for much longer." SSofeg, their small unit group leader, remarked, still sounding just as optimistic as he did back on Home. "Keep your eye turrets fresh at all times; no telling what sort of mischief the enemy may attempt."

"It shall be done." All of them responded in unison. Betvoss was mentally wondering how he had come through all of this so unfazed. He certainly wasn't feeling all that confident anymore. Nevertheless, Ssofeg was his superior and he obeyed. It was sound advice, even if his entire squad was already aware of it.

The rest of their patrol went, for the most part, smooth. A roadside explosive disabled one of their troopcarriers although happily, no injuries were reported and the vehicle was still salvageable. Whoever set the bomb was long gone, though, and Betvoss highly doubted they would find the individual responsible.

Once their patrol was done, they retired to a captured tosevite building that served as a makeshift base. The males guarding it waved them through the checkpoints as they walked through all the metal and infrared detectors. Betvoss looked over the building, seeing a section of the building where Big Ugly prisoners were being held. So far, no one had managed to sneak any weapons in here, but with the Tosevites, you couldn't tell.

"Glad to be in a place where no one's shooting at us." Skyrim sighed with relief. Betvoss made the affirmative hand gesture. He'd be happy to never see another Tosevite in his life. "Nice to be in a place that's warm as well. Miserable Big Uglies can't even appreciate good weather." All their prisoners were currently complaining about the heat, and a couple had even collapsed and nearly died before the Race figured out what was wrong with them. The Big Uglies required far more water than they did.

"Wonder how much longer it'll be before we take this city." Betvoss muttered. The area the Big Uglies called Akron was the gateway to shutting down enemy transportation in the area- the natives called it a state. However, the Toseivtes knew this just as much as they did and did everything in their power to defend it. It seemed every Big Ugly male who could hold a gun was participating in the defense.

"They'll figure out that they can't win soon enough." Skyrim let his mouth fall open. A few seconds later, he admitted. "Not that I don't wish this was easier. By the Emperor, how did they advance so quickly?" Like everyone else in his squad, he lowered his eye turrets when he mentioned the Emperor's name.

"If I knew that, I'd be Fleetlord, not an infantrymale." Betvoss informed.

"They know better than we do about what is to be done about conquering this world." Ssofeg reminded. "Let us enjoy what time away from the front line we can."

"It shall be done." Betvoss muttered. He needed no encouragement to relax. Seeing that his body paint was beginning to get sloppy, he temporarily took his leave and began to reapply it, going slowly and methodically to make sure it was perfectly applied.

Before he went back to the rest of his squad, he looked around and observed that some of his fellow males were already carrying thick human clothing to wear outside where it was cooler than males of the Race were accustomed to. Betvoss as of yet had no need to do it himself, especially since such clothing was in limited supply, but he understood the temptation.

He and the rest of his squad decided to get whatever rest they were able to grab before heading back into action again. Absently, he wondered how his friends were doing back home. Betvoss knew when he joined the conquest that he would likely never see them again and while a couple had joined as well, most declined. _I wonder if they're even alive. _He worried. Casualties had been extremely heavy, even though they were supposedly winning the war. That was the last thought he had before going to sleep.

About two daytenths later, he was abruptly woken up by his squad later. "We're under attack; grab your equipment!" Ssofeg demanded, already ready and about to head out the door.

"It shall be done." Betvoss declared, quickly putting on his body armor and grabbing his weapons. "Superior sir, just what is going on?"

"The Big Uglies are launching another bombing raid, a massive one." Ssofeg hissed in displeasure. "I have been given orders to prepare for Tosevite counterattack."

"I thought we destroyed all their killercraft!" Skyrim complained.

"Apparently not," Betvoss hissed. He had no weapons that could touch a killercraft, even a Tosevite one, but orders were orders. The Race had the capability, but didn't bring any, not anticipating such a need.

"Are they launching some kind of counterattack?" Skyrim inquired. They quickly realized, however, that this was not a typical raid. None of them had seen so many killercraft since the day they initially landed.

"Perhaps we should find a place to take cover." Betvoss suggested. Big Uglies on the ground were still a couple tlocks away, but it didn't seem to matter much at the moment.

The squad found as much cover as they could manage, wishing they had some kind of anti-killercraft weapon. Hearing their own craft gave Betvoss some hope, but at the same time, he knew that not all the Big Ugly killercraft would be shot down, however much he prayed to the Emperor that it would be so.

"Strange; a single raid shouldn't be causing so much damage." Skyrim remarked. There were far more explosions and infernos than they would have expected, even for a large raid like the one currently going on. In fact, it was the greatest inferno that they had ever seen.

They could only vaguely hear sounds of combat thousands of feet above them. At the moment, however, Betvoss' squad was mostly focused on the growing inferno, which seemed to be growing by the second. Because of the wind patterns, it seemed to be coming... directly towards them.

"Retreat!" Ssofeg ordered, immediately moving back. The difficulty was: what kind of cover would they take? Betvoss looked around frantically for a place to hide from the growing storm. He knew that if it got close enough, they'd all be burned alive. But where could they go?

All they could think to do was run as fast as their legs could take them. "We haven't been ordered to retreat!" Skyrim made a half-hearted protest.

"I'll take responsibility if our superiors consider me to be disobeying orders!" Ssofeg informed. "The important thing right now is to make sure we have a 'later' to worry about." Betvoss knew that plenty of commanders would have done no such thing, that they would have waited for orders before doing anything, even if it could save their lives. As it was, Ssofeg looked tormented before the rest of the squad stated that it was the right decision.

Even though they were away from the flames, Betvoss had some difficulty breathing because of the endless smoke. Even though it was nearly pitch-black, his eye turrets could see it everywhere. Premas looked as if he was about to fall unconscious.

"Are they addled?" Premas asked, coughing as he did so. "They're willing to burn their city to the ground?" Betvoss hated to admit it, but it certainly looked that way. No rational being would ever destroy their own city in such a fashion, but then, the Big Uglies proved that they were not rational creatures. Once they saw that the Race was superior to them, they should have stopped fighting and given in, but they hadn't.

The raid was over, but the fires continued to burn. The Race had little idea where to even begin putting them out, and thus focused their efforts on moving their males out of its path. The Tosevites were just as terrified and were also scrambling to get out, impeding the Race's efforts. Even numerous incidents of their males shooting Tosevites who didn't move fast enough did nothing to stop the panicking crowds.

"By the emperor, how did they do that?" Betvoss gasped out once it was all over, momentarily forgetting to lower his eye turrets, which said a lot about the sheer horror coursing through his body. Eventually, they found water mains in order to contain the fires, but even so, they caused an enormous amount of damage. He saw the remains of some of his fellow males who were caught in the blaze and prayed to the emperor that their deaths were quick.

"We should make them pay dearly for this!" Skyrim hissed furiously, his tailstump quivering. He raised his rifle, sorely tempted to take his frustration out on the homeless Tosevites, of which there were now legions of.

"No, our superiors will decide on a suitable course of retaliation." Ssofeg declared, pulling his weapon down. "Something like this cannot go unanswered." They spoke with other males, who confirmed that other Race-occupied cities had received the same treatment.

"Just when we think we've won, the miserable Big Uglies hatch something new from their eggs." Premas complained.

XXXXXXXXXXX

August 11, 1982:

"So where are we bombing this time?" Wuppah wondered. In the past three yeartenths, his squadron had been deployed all around the world. Even with the Big Uglies' advanced technology, he had been confident that they would have smashed their air power by now.

"I think the natives call it France." Atvar responded. Their attack into the southern half of that empire was still advancing, but it was moving slower almost by the day. Hopefully, they'd be able to change that.

"Can't be worse than our last deployment." Nesser hissed.

"Truth," everyone in the vicinity muttered. Their base had been attacked on the ground, with the enemy succeeding in destroying close to twenty killercraft. What was even worse was that their radar had given them no sign that anything was within 100 tlocks of their location. The Tosevites hit them with everything they had, then disappeared without a single trace, despite their best efforts to locate and destroy their craft.

"We'd better get ready; we'll be launching soon." Atvar declared, putting on his flight suit. This was one of the few areas of Tosev 3, what the locals called North Africa, where it wasn't necessary for them to protect themselves from the cold.

Wuppah couldn't help but notice that most of the overconfidence his fellow pilots held was gone. They knew this conquest was going to be a challenge and that acting like nobody could hurt them was a very good way to get killed. Those would were unable to adapt were either dead or captured by the enemy.

He hissed in disappointment when he saw his weaponry. He was given only fourteen missiles instead of eighteen, split evenly between air-to-air and air-to-ground. Still, he should probably consider himself lucky that it wasn't worse, considering how much ammunition they were currently using. "Means I'd better watch myself." Wuppah said to himself. If he went down, the Race would lose a pilot, a killercraft, and valuable missiles all at once.

After making all the standard checks, he took off, ready to deliver another blow on behalf of the Race. "Intelligence believes that enemy killercraft will be minimal, but the French are believed to have formidable ground-to-air weaponry." Hefron warned. "Be sure to stay at maximum altitude until such defenses are obliterated.

"It shall be done." Wuppah made the affirmative hand gesture to himself. He pushed his killercraft hard, going to maximum altitude.

Their bombers, unfortunately, did not have such a high flight ceiling, forcing the rest of them to stay at their level. They were still safe from many ground to air installations, but not all. Wuppah wished that thought had not occurred to him.

They had only just passed over Tosevite-held territory when they began to fire. Dozens of missiles were already headed in their direction. "Jammers, full power!" Hefron ordered.

"It shall be done," everyone else responded.

"Let's see how they like this." Atvar let his mouth hang open, firing two of his air-to-ground missiles at the installations. Wuppah fired only one, believing that they had not yet reached the heaviest concentrations. Not all of them were firing missiles, either; some Tosevite anti-killercraft weapons were simply guns. Some may have been primitive, but they had taken down killercraft in the past, so they were not to be underestimated.

"They can't reach us up here!" Nesser hissed. Even so, he fired a couple of intercepting flares to make the enemy's job more difficult. He was arrogant and cocky at first, but had become more cautious since.

"How can they hide these things in our territory?" Atvar hissed in frustration. Not all of them were in Tosevite-held territory, not by a long shot.

"If only I knew..." Wuppah responded. Even so, most of their installations had been destroyed, so they lowered altitude as they reached their target in Central France.

"Most of this city and surrounding towns is still held by the Big Uglies." Hefron warned. "If you hit any of our males by mistake, I promise you'll never see a killercraft again for as long as you live."

Fortunately, none of them had that problem. The fighters launched their air-to-ground missiles first, for precision attacks. Once that was over, the bombers unleashed their payload, destroying everything in their path. Wuppah knew some Big ugly buildings were built to withstand such a barrage and wondered just how much this raid would truly do to their industrial capacity. _Wonder if those firebombs would be more effective. _Wuppah mused. Those raids had proven to be very costly to the Race. Even more Tosevites had died in them, but it didn't seem to bother them at all.

The attack had gone surprisingly well, not that Wuppah would admit his doubts to any of his fellow pilots. "Excellent work, males of the Race!" Hefron complimented. "This should give them something to think about."

"We'll win this struggle yet!" Atvar stated. A few minutes later, however, they were detecting enemy killercraft headed their way. Based on the alarmed transmissions, they were detecting at least a couple hundred, meaning that their squadrons were slightly outumbered.

"How far away are they?" Nesser wondered.

"According to our starships... about 75 Tlocks." Hefron informed after a few moments of hesitation, turning his craft to meet the new threat that was about to await them.

_Should have known this wouldn't be so easy. _Wuppah complained to himself. It was only a matter of minutes before each side got into range of one another.

"Where could they possibly be coming from? Atvar inquired. "There's nowhere on land where so many could launch without us seeing it!"

Wuppah believed that there was something he was missing. No, the Big Uglies couldn't have launched them from land; they would have been noticed and their base destroyed before so many killercraft were launched into the air. What did that leave? "What about water?" That was the only conclusion he could came to, although how they managed to launch so many from there, he didn't know.

"What do you mean?" Hefron inquired.

"They might have launched them from boats in the water." Wuppah explained. "I know it's an addled idea, but it's the only thing I could think of."

"I may have to pass that on to our superiors once this fight is over." Hefron admitted. "For now, prepare yourselves." It was only a matter of minutes before they came into range.

Having the altitude advantage, the Race fired first, although the Tosevites were prepared, unlike the last major air battle in the area. They launched their own weapons within a few seconds of the Race, each side taking full evasive action and launching whatever countermeasures available.

One of them came dangerously close to Wuppah's craft, with a pair of flares and his speed only just enough to keep him from being killed. Other pilots were not so lucky, with their screams being the only thing he heard. A few succeeded in ejecting, but it was likely that they would end up being captured. They were deep in enemy territory, so chances of being picked up by friendly forces were slim.

"They'll pay for that!" Atvar hissed furiously, launching every one of his air-to-air missiles. Due to the extensive jamming, only a minority on either side were hitting their targets. Only one missile hit its target.

The race swooped down on the enemy killercraft, taking advantage of their superior speed. The tactic worked, to a certain extent. A dozen enemy craft were wiped before they caught on, but the Tosevites adapted quickly and still had hundreds of killercraft left to fight with.

"Look out!" Nesser warned. "They're trying to surround us!" It looked as if the group was splitting in two, intent on outflanking their killercraft and ensuring no escape.

"Fools; we can destroy each group, one at a time!" Atvar cheered.

"Don't be too sure of that." Hefron warned. As if to prove his words, two more killercraft were destroyed. "If the Big Uglies are anything, they're clever. Make sure they can't surround us."

Knowing they were in danger, Wuppah launched all his remaining air-to-air missiles. If his superiors complained, he'd have to explain the situation. They wouldn't do him or the Race any good if he was shot down. Two Big Ugly aircraft were destroyed, but the remaining two managed to evade and disrupt them.

"Will these creatures never learn?" Atvar demanded. Every few seconds, another killercraft went on, either of Tosevite or Race manufacture. Their bombers were especially hard hit, being unable to maneuver nearly as much as the fighters and being a prime Tosevite target.

The fight soon devolved into dogfights, with some of the enemy craft actually in visible range. Having expended all his missiles, Wuppah fired his guns at the closest enemy killercraft. The craft evaded, but his killercraft took such a sharp turn that the pilot blacked out, sending him crashing straight into the ground. Wuppah was only able to fire one more burst before he was out of bullets and thus, out of weapons.

Two missiles were detected heading directly towards him. He only barely had time to hit the ejection button before they slammed into his killercraft, blowing it into dozens of pieces. He felt his right arm snap as his body flew through the air on a collision course with Tosev 3. The stress of it was too much for him to bear and he could not muster enough coordination to hit the parachute on his seat.

Fortunately, at one Tlock, it deployed automatically. Wuppah would have been grateful for that, at least if his mind was clear enough to actually think. As his descent stabilized, he was more clearly able to observe his surroundings.

_My craft destroyed and deep into enemy territory; not the brightest of scenarios. _Wuppah thought, knowing that it was likely he would be captured. Not wanting to find out how the Big Ugly savages would treat him, he resolved to hide and wait for a rescue operation. In fact, he wasn't sure whether or not he was in Race-controlled territory or not.

Ultimately, his parachute became trapped on one of Tosev 3's plants. Wuppah grabbed one of the branches and released the parachute from his body once he was satisfied that the branch was capable of supporting his weight.

Slowly, he climbed down the plant, his sharp fingernails able to pierce the surface of it. Each movement was agony with his broken arm now that the adrenaline was wearing off, but his fear of capture drove him to continue. _No Big Uglies so far, praise the Emperor. _He thought, briefly lowering his eye turrets at the thought of his sovereign. Once he was back on solid ground, he evaluated his current situation, trying to remember exactly where he was flying when his killercraft was destroyed.

From what he could remember through the pain, large parts of this territory were controlled by the Race, but whether he landed in friendly or enemy territory, he did not know. There was a microchip implanted in his body, as there were in all killercraft pilots in case a plane was either shot down or suffered a mechanical malfunction, although because of the way the Race built anything they possessed, the latter was extremely unlikely.

For the time being, Wuppah decided to simply stay where he was. With his arm, he was unable to do any significant traveling, in any case. Strange sounds filled the atmosphere, each one making him jump. He imagined each and every one of them was a Big Ugly ready to blow his brains out at the slightest provocation. He pulled out his own weapon, despite being in no condition to use it properly.

_Come on, please hurry up! _Wuppah mentally screamed, his mouth still making groans of agony. The logical part of his brain knew it had only been a few minutes since his crash-landing and the rescue mission would likely take at least a daytenth or two, depending on how far away he was from the nearest base.

He sat down, managing to get into as comfortable a position he could manage under the present circumstances, making a mental effort to keep his left arm still. His right held his weapon; if he was found, Wuppah made a mental promise to go down fighting. His eye turrets scanned both the skies and the ground, at least what he could see of it. Wuppah was able to blend into the environment, his olive scales giving him a measure of camouflage. He lost all conscious thought soon afterwards.

A rustle in the bushes woke his up. He immediately stood up and pointed his pistol in its general direction. Had he been an infantrymale, Wuppah would have dived into the ground to hide from any bullets that could soon be heading in his direction. However, having no experience in that field and his broken arm hindering his ability to think, he made himself an easy target.

At the next rustle, he emptied his entire clip into it, firing wildly and screaming. "Stay away! I am a Male of the Race!"

"Are you the one?" He heard a voice hiss in the background. It had to be a Male of the Race; no Tosevite could imitate their speech patterns so perfectly. Two cautiously stuck their heads out from behind one of the trees.

"Are you here to rescue me?" He asked eagerly. "Please get me out of here, superior sir!" He did not know what the other male's rank was, nor did he care. All he wanted was to get out of there and back into the cockpit of a killercraft where he could strike at his enemies with relative safety.

"Are you injured?" One of them asked, but his eye turrets immediately went to his arm. A drug was injected that reduced the pain and the male yelled for a stretcher. They put him on as gently as they could under the circumstances and hurried off.

"Have you spotted any of the natives?" Wuppah could only vaguely make out the words, but they were unmistakable.

"We may control this area, but bandits infest this place." A second warned. "Spend no more time here than necessary."

A hovering killercraft touched down for the pickup. Wuppah was carefully carted in, with a squad of males standing guard, wary for any attacks. The danger wasn't over just yet. They had painted a symbol on their killercraft that the Big Uglies recognized as medical craft in order to deter attacks, but it was no sure protection and everyone knew it.

Not long after they took off, Wuppah could hear missile fired in their direction. Even in his drugged-up state, he was terrified for his life. He had already been in a killercraft crash once; he doubted that he would be lucky enough to survive a second time around. He attempted to turn towards the window in order to see what was going on, but was held down by the medics. "Careful; you do not want to further damage your arm." He made an empathetic cough.

They lived to fight another day, fortunately. Even though his superiors tried to sound optimistic, he knew that hovering killercraft were hideous vulnerable to Big Ugly attacks. Wuppah was slightly surprised that they risked one for his safe return, but was grateful they did. He would not have survived very long out there. _Spirits of Emperors past, I nearly died out there!_

Even with the astonishing technological advance the Big Uglies had achieved, Wuppah had never taken the prospect of being killed by them seriously. Now, though... he was very, very lucky to still be around, while some of his comrades had gone to serve the emperors in the afterlife. The thought filled him with pure dread while he began to question if the Big Uglies could be successfully conquered.

XXXXXXXXXXX

August 13, 1982:

"This is not satisfactory." Atvar hissed to himself. He had been saying that ever since the invasion began. On one hand, it was not unexpected, considering the Tosevite's extremely rapid technological growth.

On the other claw... who would have imagined that they would have the capability to destroy starships before they even landed? Over a dozen were lost in orbit and three more during the landing, mostly by ramming their killercraft directly into it Atvar knew that perhaps he should have taken precautions, but no member of the Race imagined a situation like this. Security had been greatly increased and so far, no further starships had been destroyed, but the possibility was still there.

Evidently he had said something out loud, for Kirel mentioned. "It is not as bad as all that, Exalted Fleetlord. We have managed to take significant territory away from our most dangerous opponent. This city in the United States... Phoenix, has just fallen to us. And in the middle portion of their empire, this... Columbus is all but ours, with only a few stubborn defenders resisting us."

"I find it amazing what so few can do to our forces." Atvar remarked. Currently, he was unsure as to which Empire- country was what the Tosevites referred to them as- posed the more significant threat to them. The United States were better trained, better equipped and mostly united against them, but both were limited and he was doing everything he could to make sure they could not mobilize in time to save themselves.

The USSR, on the other hand... what they lacked in training, they made up for in numbers, size, and stubbornness. Atvar did not previously realize just how large a planet was, even a portion of a planet. Killercraft did everything they could to suppress their munitions, but it was not nearly as effective as some shiplords previously believed, not to mention their surface-to-air missiles exacting a price in each raid. He had ordered their pilots to fly above their effective range and while that reduced the danger, it did not eliminate it.

"I still have difficulty believing that their government is what they claim." Atvar gave a mental shudder. They had previously brought one of the representatives from the USSR, asking for their surrender, when he learned that their emperor and his family had been murdered approximately 140 years ago (half as many tosevite years). He spoke matter-of-factly, as if he couldn't see why it mattered. Atvar felt physically sick just at the thought of it.

"Truth," Kirel agreed. "Tosev 3 has taught us many unpleasant events. They are far different than us than either the Rabotevs or Hallessi. Perhaps we should crush them. Their overall technology is inferior to ours, but their military technology is only slightly behind. Is..." He stopped talking, but Atvar took his point. "Perhaps we should excuse explosive-metal bombs in order to convince them to cease their resistance."

"Shiplord, I have had the same thought." Atvar admitted. That he had considered said a lot about his frustration. "We have successfully neutralized their capacity for explosive-metal bombs." Their missiles had been destroyed, along with the few that were carried by their bombers. Even so, he didn't want to use them if it could be avoided, not wanting to damage the planet for the colonists.

"The two major powers are in what the natives call a Cold War." Kirel suggested. "We could play them off against each other, weakening them and allowing us to conquer each side individually."

"That is an interesting question." Atvar admitted. "Our researchers are working on various possibilities. We cannot stop, cannot slow down. This conquest must proceed quickly before they can mobilize." 5 million were in the United States, 5 in the Soviet Union, and 3 at the western half of the main continental mass, as he chose to focus on the most advanced Big Uglies. The reminder were in India, China, and the Midde East.

They were suffering horrific losses in both, however, both in urban areas and in the countryside. Interrogation of prisoners suggested that they spread their forces out deliberately in order to keep the Race from annihilating all of them in a single battle. The war had not even lasted 1/3 of a year and already their losses were massive. Roving bands attacked convoys, blew up their limited supplies, and disappeared into the countryside once again. The only advantage the Race obtained from it was that Tosevite factories were advanced enough to at least partially replace their ammunition, antimissiles in particular.

Even in the empires that were unable to meet them on even terms, the Race was still suffering setbacks. The region known as the Middle East with 1 million males was mostly under Race but resistance continued anyhow. And a few areas, mostly a part of the western portion were still holding out in spite of everything. India and China's males were underequipped and primitive, but their empires had so many Tosevites that they were nonetheless able to inflict losses. Southeast Asia posed similar difficulties with even more hostile terrain. The cities were held, but they didn't have the males to pacify the entire region. The Southern parts of both the main and lesser continental masses were currently being ignored, as Atvar chose to focus on the more advanced areas first.

As little as he cared to admit, they had a better idea of what they were doing than Race commanders. They studied in simulations, using every possible scenario, but Atvar was quickly finding that there was a major difference between simulations and real combat. Fighting in the western half of the main continent was slowest of all. The territory was too densely packed with Tosevites for a war of maneuver. The city Orleans should have already fallen, but its defenders were stubbornly holding on.

"Exalted Fleetlord, your appointment is about to begin." Kirel reminded him.

"Oh, yes; perhaps negotiations will prove fruitful." Atvar hoped. He kept his doubts to himself.

His interpreter was waiting outside the shuttlecraft. Once the door was opened, the male- Atvar assumed it was a male, at least- walked through the door, trying his best not to show how uncomfortable he was inside the starship.

"Shall we begin?" The man's interpreter stated oddly but understandably, introducing himself as the Vice President of the United States, whatever that happened to be. Neither side currently had a strong grip on the other's language, especially since the Tosevites seemed to have so many of them. Atvar remembered that before the Empire was unified, they were the same, although to a lesser degree.

"Yes, let us do that." Atvar made the affirmative hand gesture.

"The President of the United States demands your immediate withdrawal from our territory." The representative declared. "Failure to do so will result in immediate consequences."

"You are in no position to demand anything." Atvar pointed out. "We are advancing on every front. Every day, more of your empire falls under our control. We strike wherever we please, while you are unable to halt or slow down our attack. The Race demands surrender; you cannot win." In fact, their advance had been somewhat slowed, but he was not about to admit that to the Big Ugly.

"We are no empire." The Tosevite pointed out. "We are a Democracy... and a Republic. We have no emperor; we never have, we never will. The United States will never submit to invaders."

"Your obstinacy only guarantees your people's suffering." Atvar warned. "The harder you attempt to hit us, the harder we will hit back. Victory will belong to the Empire. We have the resources of three worlds to conquer you: consider that."

"You have only what you brought with you." The Tosevite pointed out. "Your people have made a grave mistake and have overextended themselves. However, we do not want this war. If you cease your hostilities, we are willing to live in peace with me. The president has authorized me to say that he is willing to offer homes and territory suited for you. You will govern your own affairs, and live under your own laws, so long as you do not attempt to overthrow our government."

Atvar resisted the urge to hiss in frustration. None of the major Tosevite empires had been willing to yield, even facing overwhelming firepower. That was going to make this task much more difficult. "How do you propose to fight back once we have killed or captured all your military males and destroyed your factories? Other empires have been more willing to consider surrender." Considering, though, was not the same as actually submitting. Atvar hoped the Tosevite wouldn't see through that.

Judging by the spread of his facial muscles, he did. "They can fight on or submit: the choice is theirs. We, on the other hand, will not surrender. The president had hoped for a peaceful settlement, but you are still too obstinate to consider it."

Atvar hissed at him furiously. "Before you reject our reasonable demands, consider this: the Race has neutralized your explosive-metal bombs and your capacity to rebuild. We have no such restrictions and if you continue to resist us, we will use all available methods to defeat you."

He had hoped that would intimidate the American representative. If it did, he gave so sign. Atvar noticed a slight twitch on his mouth, although he did not know what it meant. "We will not be intimidated by threats, Fleetlord. We do not want a war, but we will not shy from it if you continue your aggression." The Vice President pushed himself to his feet and walked out of the room, not interested in listening to Atvar any longer.

Pshing was waiting for him when he returned, giving the fleetlord a curious look. "No, they are still unwilling to surrender." Atvar sighed. He was going to meet with representatives of France, Italia, and Deutschland in a short period of time, asking for their surrender as well. He doubted they would, but the effort had to be made. The only successful negotiations were over prisoner exchanges and supplying food to conquered regions. Atvar was tempted not to allow them, but if food was cut off, the Tosevites would go hungry and have more incentive to fight back, so he tolerated it. "Tell our technicians to make any efforts possible to rebuild our antimissiles. Captured factories will be able to do the job, but only members of the Race will be anywhere near the electronics. We cannot risk the Big Uglies duplicating our technology."

"It shall be done, exalted fleetlord." Kirel made the posture of respect and departed. Even under optimistic scenarios, however, they would only be able to build around a dozen per day, not nearly enough to keep all their bases and ships safe from attack. Most would be placed on starships in orbit to protect against their missiles. Atvar believed they were destroyed, but intended to be cautious even so.

"And Kirel... perhaps they will be more willing to submit if we give them a demonstration of our power." Atvar clicked on the keyboard, calling up images of two capitals of Tosev 3's not-empires. "Hit these cities with two of our largest bombs."

"Washington and Moscow, you mean." Kirel made the posture of respect. "It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord."


	7. Chapter 7

September 9, 1982:

_Amazing how something so terrifying can become normal. _Melanie thought as bombs exploded above them. After the first incident, they made sure that there was an actual bomb shelter nearby that they could use. It'd survive anything but a direct hit, so while not perfectly safe, it was far better than waiting at home.

"Never seems to end, does it?" Thomas sighed, trying to hide just how nervous he was. Had there been room, he would have started to pace around. "Least we've got some food in here." The aliens were entering the city, although they were still miles away from their current residence.

"We'll get through this, just like all the other times." Melanie reassured, trying to silence her private doubts.

"Have a feeling we're going to have to deal with worse soon." Thomas informed. "I don't think we're going to be able to hold them, meaning that we either figure out a way to life under occupation, or flee the city and try and fight back."

Even so, it could have been worse. He had heard reports that the aliens had tried dropping nuclear weapons on Moscow and Washington, though the planes had been intercepted and the one nuclear missile they launched was intercepted by their growing anti-ballistic missile capability.

"Shit, just what we needed." Melanie shook her head. "Fucking aliens; why couldn't they just stay on their own goddamned planet?" She spit on the ground furiously, as if that would do anything about the planes currently pounding their city. "Hell, our greatest success was dropping napalm on our own cities!" She pulled her hair in frustration, trying and failing to keep herself together.

After several minutes, the raid was finally over and they slowly exited the bomb shelter. Technically, it was a fallout shelter, but it served the same function. "Let's go home." Melanie declared. _Let's see if we have a home to go back to._

The destruction the aliens were visiting on the city was beginning to add up. Although they primarily targeted industrial areas, thousands of civilians had already died. Perhaps tens of thousands; the government was concealing the exact numbers. Either way, it wasn't good. She always prayed that nobody she knew would end up being one of the casualties.

"Melanie, I have a confession to make." Thomas admitted. After a moment's hesitation, he continued: "They've drafted me into the defense of this city. I'm supposed to report tomorrow in order to receive what training I can."

"Didn't you tell them no?!" Melanie screeched.

"It's not like I have a choice." Thomas sighed. "Besides... I've got to do something. I can't just stand here and watch these SOBs take over the country. We're already in constant danger just from the air raids. If I'm going to die, I'd at least like the chance to fight back." Melanie looked into her brother's eyes and saw his terror, but at the same time... there was a certain determination.

_Why did you have to choose now for the time when you decide to finally stand up for yourself? _Melanie groaned. She'd be demanding he show some courage for years and not fight his battles for him. Now that he was doing just that, she wished he'd just be his normal meek self. _Please, god, if you keep him safe, I'll do anything you ask. _

Both of them sat down, debating their options. They knew they could flee and in order to keep him from being on the front lines. On the other hand, he was right. They were already in danger every day from the constant bombing, and they could quite easily die on the trip to safety. Melanie was torn; she was both furious that her brother would do this, but at the same time... she also felt proud of him.

Melanie got to her feet, getting a bottle of vodka out of the cabinet. She hadn't had a drink for over a year, but she needed something to distract herself from what was about to happen. Thomas ripped it out of her friends and kept it away from her, much to her frustration.

"Give me that, you son of a bitch!" Melanie screamed at him, clawing his face.

"Go to hell; I'm dumping this!" Thomas glared back. "You don't need this shit!"

"Yeah, I do; now give it to me!" Melanie demanded, kicking him in the shin. Thomas set the bottle down and tackled her to the floor, refusing to let her up. No matter how she struggled, she couldn't break free. She cursed him with every word she knew, trying to slap him, only to find her arm pinned. Her brother weighed almost twice as much as her and was a lot stronger, so she was eventually forced to admit that she wasn't going anywhere.

"Stop being so damn selfish!" Thomas demanded of her. "You think you're the only one having a difficult time with everything?! I'm about to die and you're the one trying to drink yourself into oblivion!"

"Don't say that; Fuck!" Melanie snarled.

"Hey, I'm not blind to the possibilities, all right?" Thomas glared at her. "You think I'm not just as terrified as you? That all the worst case scenarios have played out in my head a hundred times over? But I've got to fight, and I'm going to! And I'd prefer that you support me rather than making this worse!"

Melanie's anger began to evaporate. Her brother had a lot of talents, but being a soldier wasn't one of them. He was right; the city needed everyone they could get their hands on, however much she despised it. She wondered absently if this was how her parents felt when their older siblings and parents went off to war during World War II. On one level, she knew it was going to be necessary if they wanted a chance to win, but she didn't want anything to happen to him. "Just... just be careful, ok?" Melanie whispered.

"I'll do my best." Thomas responded. "I can't promise anything, especially since my training starts tonight. I've already informed my boss. Pretty much everyone over there is going into this program, with either people too old or too young to fight taking our jobs."

"Look, just don't do anything crazy, all right?" Melanie begged him. "If you're in trouble, don't try any noble sacrifice, or giving your life up. Just stay alive, ok?" Thomas gave her a stern look, knowing just as much as she did that neither of them could guarantee anything, but she didn't want to think about it just then.

"I'm not going to do anything stupid, ok?" Thomas promised, hugging her.

Melanie said nothing further; she knew nothing was going to change his mind. She grabbed some food from the kitchen, carefully rationing it for the bad times ahead. Her stomach growled in protest, which she did her best to ignore. Compared to her brother, though, she had it easy; he was a lot bigger than she was. She fell asleep, ideas beginning to float through her head.

The next morning, it felt like she had barely slept. Indeed, she was woken twice from air raids and artillery in the distance. She rubbed her eyes in an effort to wake herself up, wishing that coffee was still available. Melanie knew that this was a major risk, but she believed it would be worth it.

"Didn't expect to see you up this early." Thomas remarked with his pillow over his face on the couch.

"You couldn't sleep either?" Melanie asked. It wasn't a question; the answer was quite apparent with the dark circles under his eyes. "When do you have to leave?"

"Have to be there in two hours, and I figure it'll take around half an hour to get there, assuming minimal artillery shells." Thomas mused. "Well, wish me luck."

_It's now or never. _Melanie thought. "I'm coming with you. If you can fight, so can I." Melanie waited for his response, anticipating his fury.

"I'd ask if you've lost your mind, but it seems quite apparent that you have." Thomas muttered. "Why the hell are you doing this?"

"You already gave the exact reasons yesterday." Melanie declared. She was scared, as everyone in their right mind would be, but she earned her reputation for stubbornness. "If you can fight, so can I!"

"But... but... but..." Thomas stammered out, trying to think of some kind of reason why she shouldn't do this. He was never good at improvisation and had never been able to talk Melanie out of anything. She simply waited there with her arms crossed, daring him to protest. A faint smirk came from the corner of his mouth as he sighed in defeat.

"All the reasons you gave are just as valid for me as they are for you." Melanie pointed out. "Besides, I doubt they'll turn down my help; they need everyone they can get their hands on."

"Can never talk you out of anything," Thomas sighed and shook his head, but made no further argument. Both of them saw down, lost in their nervous thoughts. They didn't even have any television or for that matter, enough light to read anything. There was no electricity now, not at any time of the day. What energy the city still produced went straight to the war effort.

The time passed quickly, as it always does for any individuals that are frightened or nervous. They looked at one another and began walking out the door. The instant Melanie walked outside, her eyes squinted as they worked to adjust to the bright light. "So where is this place?" Melanie asked, mostly to break the awkward silence.

"It's about a mile north, underground." Thomas responded. "We'll probably be going into the sewers to train, such as it is, anyway." He cursed as he stepped into a pothole, hopping on one feet. Despite the seriousness of their situation, Melanie couldn't help but give a brief chuckle. It was good to know that some things would never change.

"Are you sure you know exactly where this is?" Melanie pressed. She briefly considered going back. Unlike her brother, she wasn't being drafted into civil defense, but dismissed that idea as soon as it entered her head.

"Yes, I do." Thomas replied. "Can't believe you're actually doing this."

"Well, someone's got to keep you out of trouble." Melanie smiled, a genuine one much to her surprise. "Besides, what kind of sister would I be if I let you fight alone?"

From a distance, it looked just like any other building. That is, except for the crowd gathering around it. There were hundreds of people there, making Melanie look up at the sky for any alien aircraft. It wouldn't do them much good, not caught out in the open. Hopefully, they didn't recognize the significance of this building. Thomas sighed and began to pace.

"So what now?" Melanie inquired.

"Far as I can tell, we wait here until someone lets us in." Thomas replied. It looked like something that was set up on the spur of the moment, not planned. Annoying as it was, Melanie supposed it wasn't a big surprise under the circumstances.

"Melanie!" She heard Katherine call her name. "Should have guessed you'd be here!"

"So how long have you been stuck out here?" Melanie embraced her friend, feeling less alone. "Seems like forever to me and I just got here."

"I've lost count," Katherine replied. "You should have seen what the crowd was earlier this morning. Looks like just about everyone's ready to fight. Even saw a few WWII veterans, as impossible as it sounds."

"Well, they've been through this before." Thomas remarked. "In Germany's last days, even the very old and very young picked up guns to fight."

"Not a good example; they still lost." Melanie pointed out.

"So did the Soviet Union when it looked like they would collapse." Thomas continued. "Still, it doesn't seem like we're that desperate yet."

"Yeah, thank god." Katherine sighed, rubbing her hand through her hair. "How much longer is this going to take?" Just as soon as she uttered those words, she was called forward. Melanie and Thomas both wished her good luck, hoping she'd manage to survive.

"God, are we going to be stuck here all day?"Melanie growled in frustration.

"Didn't know you were so eager to fight," Thomas smirked. "Lizards are probably even more afraid of you than your classmates were high school."

"Yeah, thanks a lot." Melanie groaned. She hated being reminded of her high school days, even if her brother was only making a joke.

A couple minutes later, the two of them were called in. If the soldier at the desk was surprised by seeing a woman volunteering, he didn't show it. "Thanks for your patience." He stated. "If you would please follow me..." He got up from his seat and led them downstairs. Melanie knew the reason was likely that he didn't want either of them wandering on their own.

After going close to two floors downstairs, Melanie saw half a dozen people at the end of the room, hands behind their back, looking sternly at the rest. She expected that they were the officers in charge. They were beckoned forward and stood right in front of them, Thomas twitching nervously. Melanie looked directly at them, refusing to let herself be intimidated.

"State your names," the man in the center said with a no-nonsense tone in his voice. His name tag identified him as Martin.

"Thomas Sullivan, sir." Thomas replied, deciding to salute. "Reporting for duty.

"Melanie Sullivan," She said, saluting as well. _Figure I may as well try and do this properly. _

"Same last name; she your wife?" Martin inquired, staring at Thomas.

"Uh... no... uh... Major." Thomas stammered out. "She's my younger sister and decided to volunteer." He stood stone-faced, but Melanie caught the impression he did not approve of her being there. Under the circumstances, however, they had bigger things to worry about.

"Repeat after me..." Martin ordered. "I, Thomas Sullivan..."

"I, Thomas Sullivan, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the offices appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice; so help me God." Thomas uttered with his hand up. Melanie uttered the same words, wondering what was going to be next.

"So how long is our training going to last?" Melanie asked.

"Basic Training is ordinarily ten weeks before you begin advanced infantry training." Martin informed. "Things being as they are, we'll give you as much training as we can before the enemy arrives." That would be a couple weeks at the most. The aliens were getting closer and closer.

Much to her surprise, they began drilling the two of them immediately, handing them both an unloaded M16. Absently, Melanie wondered why neither of them were being given any physical conditioning. She almost immediately answered her question when she remembered just how short on time they were.

September 11, 1982:

This was not where Alexis wanted to be at the moment. His helmet kept stone from falling on his head, but nothing could keep out a direct hit. The lizards were advancing on Orleans every day, while its defenders were being pushed back farther and farther. Only 1/4th of the city was currently being held by human forces.

However, that wasn't what was bothering him right now. As a soldier, Alexis knew he might have to sacrifice his life for his country. When Orleans was taken- and that was a when, not if by now- Paris would be next. They had no major obstacles after this, and if their capital fell... what then?

"We're still assisting them, even if we're here." Monetti reminded him when Alexis spoke his thoughts out loud. He felt some sympathy; Italy had been completely taken over, even if guerrilas were taking advantage of the mountains to make the aliens' lives miserable. France was at least partially free, even if large portions were occupied.

Artillery caught up Alexis' reply. He flattened himself to the ground as best he could, hoping that no large chunks of concrete slammed into his body. So far, it hadn't happened, but you never knew what could happen next. "Bastards!" Alexis spat. It still felt like far too weak a word for what he really wanted to say to them.

The shelling left up after a few moments. Absently, Alexis wondered if this is how his great-grandparents felt in the trenches of France during World War I. From stories he had heard, the enemy was in the habit of launching a second barrage just when they were about to relax and considered themselves safe.

"Can't let them overrun us," Monetti responded, getting to his feet. Alexis followed, knowing he was right. Better to guess wrong about more shelling than be a sitting duck of whatever infantry advance the lizards were likely to make.

_Not that advancing is going to be easy through that. _Alexis thought as he looked over the city. Large parts of it were in ruin, with their inhabitants either refugees or dead. On a few occasions, he even helped himself to the food they left behind. Not like they needed it where they were.

Everything that the defenders could do to make the city impassable to the enemy, they had done. Tank traps were everywhere, with thousands of people carrying anti-tank rockets. Others were using the rubble itself as cover, armed with machine guns. It likely wouldn't take out many lizards, but it would keep their heads down and unable to kill them.

"Looks like they're coming." Alexis heard one of the nearby men say. He admired him as to how he was able to keep all fear out of his voice.

The aircraft made numerous passes as well, killing as many humans as possible. Alexis that they would be able to shoot them down, but anti-aircraft weapons were in short supply at the moment. Every once in a while, they got lucky. "Where are our fucking aircraft?" Alexis cursed at no one in particular. They had seen few signs of them since the initial days of combat. He hoped that they were keeping them in reserve for the right moment, instead of all of them being destroyed.

"Probably try and advance while they're bombing us, at least as much as they can, while our heads are forced down." Said one of the local commanders. "That's what I'd do, at least."

Alexis started firing, even though the smoke was nearly blinding him. He didn't expect to hit anything, but anything was better than simply waiting in place to die. A couple machine guns opened up in the area, with the aliens returning fire. He just hoped that they were as blind as his own side was at the moment. Screams here and there indicated his group was taking casualties.

He kept his eyes everywhere, just in case they made an attempt to outflank them. So far, they hadn't done so. "Wonder why; it's the first thing I'd try to do." Intelligence stated that they weren't great soldiers in the tactical sense, which was likely why Europe was still in the fight instead of being completely crushed.

Once the smoke cleared, he saw the lizards slowly moving forward. A couple were down, with medics tending to their injured comrades. Alexis was tempted to shoot them down, but refrained. The lizards had mostly played fair with their medics and he didn't want to give them any motivation to change their minds.

One of the soldiers near him had his head blown off by a machine gun bullet, spraying the rest of the group with blood and bone. Alexis bit his lip to keep from throwing up. He couldn't lose it, not now. He fired his rifle from cover, ready to move back to another position if necessary. Even so, it appeared as if the lizards were unable to advance.

It continued for a while, with each side using suppressive fire in an effort to advance their troops. Alexis had a feeling that the stalemate wasn't going to last long, however.

He was proven right when their artillery opened up again, even thicker than before. He curled into a ball, digging whatever foxhole he could under such short notice, which wasn't much. Even with adrenaline driving him, he found it difficult to dig through the rubble. Once he reached solid concrete, he knew he was going no further. "Make it stop!" he screamed. None of the other soldiers took any notice of him; some were even screaming the same thing. He felt his arms and legs turn to jelly, and found himself unable to move.

"They're coming; get ready, you sons of bitches!" Alexis heard someone shot, although he couldn't tell exactly where the order was coming from. He took several deep breaths and after the third attempt, pushed himself to his feet.

The second attempt from the aliens was a lot more aggressive. At least to his eye, they had more men and equipment. No armor, thank god, but numerous Armored Personnel Carriers. Alexis grabbed one of his grenades and threw with all his point, hoping that it would accomplish something, but didn't stay to find out.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone launch an anti-tank rocket at one of the vehicles, blowing it to pieces and likely killing all the occupants. He himself was killed shortly after, but it was a reminder that the aliens were not invincible. Knowing that made Alexis feel better, or at least more willing to fight on.

Even so, however, he saw that the line was not going to hold. The lizards were only 100 meters away and closing quickly. The only time they stopped was when their aircraft or artillery bombed their positions once again. "Retreat; fall back to the next line of defense!" The commander screamed through Alexis' radio. Until he heard the man's voice, Alexis had almost forgotten he even carried the thing.

They retreated by squads, with the first group falling back and the other two providing as much covering fire as they can. Alexis knew he was fortunate to actually have cover, but knew it was no sure protection. He bit down the urge to simply run as fast as he could away from danger. He clenched his fists hard enough to draw blood and simply moved to the next defensive line about 250 meters to the west.

Not everyone made it, not by a long shot. Some were cut down by lizard bullets, while others fell victim to shelling. Alexis waited nervously for the next attack. Their defensive line was still forming and if the lizards pursued them, they could punch through.

But they didn't. For reasons Alexis could not understand, they decided to stop and hold on to what they'd already taken. He dug a deeper foxhole, deciding to take full advantage of the lull in the action. Not that it would do him any good if a shell exploded close enough, as he knew perfectly well. He cautiously looked over the horizon, readying himself for a further attack.

Their planes continued to pound what little of Frankfurt they still held, as did their artillery, but at the moment, the lizards decided not to try another push. "My god, I didn't think we were going to get through that one." Alexis vocalized the fears that everyone else had.

"Yeah, got more lives than a cat." Damien Evans agreed. He was one of the few Canadians in the city, although he was frequently mistaken for someone from the United States, much to his frequent annoyance. He went back to English, meaning that Alexis had some trouble following him. "We've taught them to be cautious, at least."

"Still no closer to freeing ourselves," Fredrich scowled, also in English. Alexis could speak both French and German fluently, but English was more difficult to follow.

"We're no closer to freeing anyone." Pierre Bastion sighed. He was one of the older soldiers at the age of 36. Alexis was grateful to see him around, being that most were either German or American. He fired a clip in frustration towards the lizard position, cursing the entire time. Afterwards, he let out a deep sigh and buried his face in his arms; everyone around him knew it was to keep them from seeing him cry.

Everyone struggled to keep their morale up. They had hurt the aliens, but were still no closer to stopping them. Alexis worried about his family in France, including members that he never believed he'd never miss, not if he lived to be a thousand. He hadn't heard from them for over a month, not knowing if they were alive or dead, and he feared the worst.

That night, they received new orders. "We're leaving." Bastion informed. Alexis' jaw dropped down in shock. They were being pushed back, but they weren't beaten yet. Why were they leaving?!

He knew better than to disobey, however. "Where are we going?" Alexis forced himself to ask.

"We're retreating into the woods, try and take some shots at them before they reach our capital." Bastion responded. "Hey, I'm no happier about this than you are." He added at Alexis' furious glare. "I'm just following orders. We've leaving tonight so we aren't caught in a rout." It made sense; if the aliens caught them as they were retreating, it would be a bloodbath.

XXXXXXXXXX

September 14, 1982:

He had a slight grin as he witnessed his NATO counterparts shivering, trying to adapt to the cold on Iceland. Being from the Soviet Union, Andrei was far more accustomed to such conditions.

_Still, I've got a job to do. _Andrei sighed. All the major powers decided to send some of their commanders to Iceland in order to coordinate their attacks. Being that intelligence reports indicated that the lizards were from a land planet and thus did not see the significance of islands helped keep them safe. The fact that they also preferred a much warmer planet didn't hurt, either.

Most of the time they spent was bickering. Despite the best hopes of all the powers, only a limited amount was being accomplished. Some of the generals were pushing for nuclear retaliation, India and China in particular. Their situation was much more severe and they had much less left to fight with. Sheer numbers were enough to hold the aliens back on occasion, but it also meant that even the few victories they won came at a very high price.

Both the Soviet Union and the United States were pressuring the others to refrain from using nuclear weapons, at least for the time being. The Race currently believed that their capabilities had been destroyed, and no one wanted to prove otherwise to them... at least until the opportune moment.

Had their attempts on the capitals of the superpowers succeeded, the pressure would have been too great and the ruse would have been over. Fortunately, the planes had been intercepted and destroyed. The Soviets were using what remained of their aircraft to protect only the most important strategic areas, while the Americans were protecting the eastern seaboard and southern provinces.

Personally, Andrei felt that it wasn't going to work much longer, but the effort had to be made. They did not want a nuclear exchange on their territories. "And so here we are."

"Now gentlemen, I am pleased to report that the offensive into the American southwest has been repelled." General Roscoe Robinson smiled proudly, as if he was personally responsible for it. Andrei knew that he was the first black man to achieve such a rank in the United States. "NATO has also taken the offensive in Hanover and are steadily forcing the aliens out of the city."

Andrei scowled; he noticed he said nothing of recent Soviet offensives in Siberia, but he wasn't surprised at that. They might have been allies since the lizards had arrived, but they would never be friends. "Minor offensives and stalemates do not win wars." Andrei reminded, enjoying seeing Robinson's lip twitch. "On most other fronts, our forces continue to give ground. This war is not even close to over."

"My government would like to know when your promised help will arrive." Rajesh Madan pointed out. "Meerut and Panipat have just fallen, leaving New Delhi open for attack. Even our cooperation with the Pakistani military has not been sufficient to slow them down, much less halt their advance." Out of all the major powers represented in Iceland, India's situation was likely the most desperate.

"A shipments of tanks, anti-aircraft missiles, and small arms are being sent to you at this very moment." Andrei informed him. Currently, the Soviet Union was the biggest supplier of their military, being in closer geographical proximity than the United States was. Cargo ships were transporting as many T-72s, T-80s and anti-aircraft weapons as Bresnev believed he could spare from the front lines. That was unlikely to make much difference, however, which both he and Madan knew.

"We will do everything we can for you." Lloyd promised. "Do keep in mind, however, that there is only so much we can spare for our allies. Nevertheless, I will contact the president and see what he says."

"Thatcher has also authorized a major supply run for both India and China." General Steven Jones promised, one of the British commanders sent to the island. Since Britain was at the moment free of invaders, they had more to spare for everyone else.

"Fortunately, events are slowly turning to our advantage." Leo Bellard gave a small smile. Unlike most of the others, he was fluent in several languages and needed fewer interpreters. The French commander had a slight smirk on his face. "The weather is already beginning to have an impact on the enemy and once the temperature drops, they will be ripe for a counterattack."

"Perhaps, but that still means a month, perhaps two before we can take full advantage of it." Qiang Li cautioned. "We should use the remainder or our air power to slow them down before we strike back. The plan will not help us in any way if we have nothing left to fight with."

"None of us have sufficient aircraft at the moment to stop them, and it is currently unwise to risk what we have left." Ludmila Gorbuonva cautioned. She had been a pilot of the Great Patriotic War, ultimately scoring 18 confirmed kills and had earned the Hero of the Soviet Union medal. She was busy training novice pilots how to face the enemy when she was ordered to Iceland. Andrei personally considered it a waste of her talents, but their superiors had thought differently. "We want to be able to defeat the lizards, not just annoy them."

"We cannot grant the enemy the initiative!" Madan insisted. "We must hit the enemy at every turn, snipe them from behind the lines, force them to overextend themselves. Luring them into overconfidence has its merits, but it will be mean nothing if they build themselves into a position too secure for us to break!"

"His point is valid." Jones agreed. "The plan will deliver a resounding success if it works, but all of us have enough experience to know that plans always go wrong in war. They will claim more territory, leaving us with less industry and a smaller population to fight back with. We cannot stake everything on a single plan."

"The lizards already have the initiative; will you deny that?" Ludmila stared at him keenly. Jones couldn't deny it. "We will not be sitting idle while we prepare our counterattack, contrary to what some of you might believe. Our partisans will be active in territories the enemy believes they control, who can provide both resistance and intelligence on their movements."

"We will also be supplying as many weapons as we can spare to occupied parts of the world." Lloyd responded. "This will keep them from transporting any reinforcements to assist them, and with luck, force them to withdraw some of their troops plaguing us to deal with their resistance fighters."

"It is important to keep in mind that this war is unlikely to have any great, decisive victories." Robinson pointed out. "This is a war of attrition, not a blitzkrieg. In spite of how hopeless it seems now, we have a major advantage over the lizards. We can replace our men and material, while they only have what they brought with them from Tau Ceti. As we fight on, we would do well to remember this."

_Is that where they're from? _Andrei did not consider it important what solar system they came from, as long as they could kick them out of the one that belonged to humans, regardless of which country they originated from.

"Numbers will make a difference, as will the equipment we can produce once we fully transition to a war-time economy." Ludmilla declared. According to their best estimates, the U.S. and NATO had achieved the best ratio, at roughly 3:1 in terms of males and equipment. For the Soviet Union, it was around 4:1.

"I assure you, the lizards are quite aware of our strategy, which is why they are attempting to seize as much territory as possible." Li proclaimed. "They have also figured out that our vehicles run on oil as opposed to hydrogen and are bombing as many refineries and wells as they can reach." Andrei could not blame him for sounding nervous. For India and China, the ratio was close to 10:1 and they had much less equipment to fight back with. It was hindering everyone, especially since the supplies of the Middle East were now closed to them.

"A nuclear strike would send a message to the lizards that we will fight back with everything we have." Medan informed. He was not alone; many generals in the Soviet Union were pushing for the same decision, even if Brezhnev was abiding by a no first use policy. "It would be cheaper in lives than throwing them away in conventional warfare."

"You're overlooking the fact that the lizards will hit back hard on whoever resorts to nuclear weapons first." Bellard warned. "And most of yours have already been destroyed, leaving you with a rather small stockpile."

"We should table the discussion about using nuclear weapons for the time being." Li interjected, having been informed of the plan to wait until the right moment. "At a later date, we can resume, but for now, let us focus on how to repel them conventionally. Robinson is correct; this is a war of attrition, one that we can win without resorting to such extreme measures."

"We can use nuclear weapons as a last resort, if there is nothing else to fight with, but we are far from that point." Jones declared. "Bad as the situation appears, it is much less desperate than some in this room feared."

Andrei was a member of that group. He felt that if aliens were advanced enough to cross the vast gulf between stars, they would be advanced enough to defeat any human resistance. The comparison he had made was between the capitalist states conquering the natives. The natives fought hard, inflicted losses, even won a few victories, but were ultimately defeated. While the aliens were still more militarily advanced than then, it was to a much lesser degree than he believed in the past.

"The General Secretary has authorized me to inform you that their Conquest Fleet has been delayed from their original plan." Ludmila told them. "Their original plan was to launch the conquest eighty of their years before now. Their years are shorter than ours, but by how much, we do not know."

"According to our best estimates, their years are 180.125 days, slightly less than half of our own." Robinson cut in. "They would have arrived in roughly... April 1942." The news badly shook everyone in the room. Andrei was better able to hide it than most, his emotionless mask serving him well, but he had no doubt that his fellow generals could see right through it.

"If they had arrived in 1942... no way in hell could we have beaten them under those circumstances." Jones vocalized everyone's fears.

"I doubt we would have lasted six months." Bellard sighed. "We are fortunate that they delayed their offensive, but we cannot worry about what might have been. Concentrate on what we're dealing with now, which is quite bad enough."

"Some of our prominent science fiction authors are studying them." Robinson smiled. Andrei was about to say the idea was ridiculous when he remembered that they had made their careers speculating about what extraterrestrial would be like, how they would behave. "If they delayed their conquest by 40 years, and their technology is the same as it was then, the Race- their proper name- only technologically advances slowly."

"How can you be sure this is true?" Ludmilla asked. "We are here to gather facts, not speculate."

"Secondly, it is also irrelevant to our current war." Lloyd added.

"It may not be the most crucial piece of information, but it nevertheless gives us insight into who they are." Bellard realized. "While I know that this is a common trope of science fiction that no life but humans process technologically at a fast rate, this may be true in their case."

"How old is their civilization?" Andrei thought. The aliens were a few decades more advanced than humans were in terms of military capability, a few centuries in terms of interstellar travel. They couldn't be too old, or the war would have ended a long time ago.

"They sent a probe to see if we were worth colonizing in... 1141." Robinson declared, checking his notes. "If they took 841 years, twice as many as theirs, to try and conquer, I believe that says something about how swiftly they advance."

"From what we have been able to find out, their civilization is much older than ours, by thousands and thousands of years, and yet they seem to have advanced at a much slower rate." Jones smiled. "Good news for us; it means they won't be improving their military technology whereas we will be steadily meeting them on more equal terms."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Ludmila warned. "They may not be imaginative fighters, but they aren't stupid. If we start adapting, they will too."

"Agreed, but this also means that the advantage is ours." Robinson nodded. "They also appear to have sub-light ships, meaning that we won't have to worry about imminent reinforcements."

The debates and plans went on for the entire day. Andrei realized that coordinating a worldwide counterattack was going to be extraordinarily difficult. Each nation was in a different situation with their own beliefs on how to best combat the enemy. Once it was over, he would inform Brezhnev that India and China were the most likely to use nuclear weapons in the future, likely ruining the whole plan. The others would have to be informed as well.


	8. Chapter 8

September 20, 1982:

_Just be patient, _Barzini told himself, trying to act as casual as he could. He had been in Simele for the past week, talking with other members of the Peshmerga in an effort to get them to agree to the shaky alliance they currently held.

Many of the other leaders were understandably reluctant. There were no shortage of tragic stories of atrocities, some of them even dwarfing his own. With alien invaders currently occupying Kurdistan, however, he felt that they had more important battles at the moment. Not everyone agreed with him, though, not even close.

Even while the Iraqi army and the Peshmerga were supposedly working together to fight the aliens, a significant amount of casualties came from one another. Barzini had heard rumors of skirmishes that were on the verge of being won, only to lose because one side or the other attempted to take the opportunity to slaughter the other group before the second was aware of it.

It made for an... interesting balance, and meant that resistance efforts were being greatly hampered. The aliens held all of Iraq now, though he intended to do whatever they could in order to make life miserable for them. Simele had a small garrison, although it was sufficient in size and technology to keep it out of human hands.

Every day, he wondered whether or not they would discover that he was one of the men fighting to free Kurdistan from their grip. Fortunately, they could not easily tell one human from another. He passed by a squad of lizards, making sure to appear as submissive as he could allow himself to be. While the majority were willing to fight them, even if they struck Saddam's army at the same time, a few believed the aliens were a better alternative to human rulers. Trying to keep track of who was who made life very exciting to put it mildly.

He continued to walk to his destination, no one paying him any mind. To most, he was just one more resident of Simele. Barzini looked up at the building, made on concrete unlike many others. Wishing that the Peshmerga had chosen a less obvious hiding place, he nevertheless knocked on the wall twice, on the door four times, then once, and twice more on the wall.

The door slowly opened and Barzini was greeted with half a dozen AK-47 pointed in his direction. Trying not to show fear, he stood his ground. One of them asked: "Why are you here?"

"You owe me 400 dinars, and it's time you paid up." Barzini responded, giving the code word for word. It was a clumsy one, not helped by the weapons trained on him, but it worked well enough. They let him inside and hurriedly shut the door. The blinds were shut in an additional effort of concealment.

"Why didn't you come at night?" One of them asked. "It would have been safer." If the boy was any older than fifteen, Barzini would have been amazed. Despite his young age, he'd seen action before; he had the look. _Dark times indeed, _Barzini thought to himself.

"Apologies about my son's misbehavior." The father spoke. "Please, feel free to make yourself at home. Would you like anything to eat or drink?"

"I would take some Kubba and Biryani, if you have any to spare." Barzini answered. He was tempted to turn them down, but learned to take any opportunity to eat, being that he didn't know when he would have another opportunity. One of the other fighters rushed off to get what he requested. "So what am I here for and who are you?"

"You can call me Diyako." He responded. "This is my son Adar. As for why you are here, I'm authorized to tell you that there will be a shipment that we intend to pick up tonight and since you have experience dealing with them, I decided you would be a useful asset." Diyako gave him a slight glare. Barzini knew that some Kurds considered him a traitor for cooperating with the Iraqis, even if it was only a temporary alliance.

"And where is this meeting supposed to take place?" Barzini asked.

"In the hills out there, as concealed from the enemy satellites as can be managed." Diyako informed. "So far, the Race as left us alone, apart from the occasional artillery shell that is sent in our direction."

"So that's what they call themselves?" Barzini scoffed. Just their very name showed intolerable arrogance. It could be a useful bit of information, however unlikely that appeared at first glance, so he filed it off in his mind for further use. "If you plan on trying to drive them out of Simele, I would advise against it. They're much better equipped than us, and while they don't show the same level of brutality as Saddam, they will inflict many civilian casualties if it means defeating us."

"We have no intention of doing so... for the moment, anyway." Diyako informed. Not for the first time, Barzini regretted not having a formal command structure in the Peshmerga.

"What do you want me here for, then?" Barzini asked, hoping to strike a blow against the occupiers. "If we're going to fight, we'd better sneak out of the city when we can."

"No, no, no, it's nothing like that." Diyako dismissed. "We don't have the forces to do anything more than annoy them, certainly not kick them out of Simele. Of course, we don't have to throw them out in order to make their lives miserable." Some resistance fighters set IEDs on the roads, although the lizards' tanks were very resistant to damage.

"So that explosion I heard in the morning your handiwork?" Barzini wondered.

"Perhaps, perhaps not." Diyako shrugged with a small smile on his face. Adar returned with his food before Barzini could reply. He thanked the young man for his hospitality. "Adar, have the others join us. This is information everyone needs to know."

"I'm listening; how will our brave resistance fighters hurt the lizards?" Barzini asked. Diyako did not answer him immediately. The others entered the room and surrounded him, waiting for the man to speak. Barzini had a rather unpleasant feeling about this.

"Tonight, there will be a meeting outside the city." Diyako informed. "My sources have told me that we are to receive a new shipment of weapons in order to resist the enemy from the stars." Everyone looked at him with anticipation. "The Soviet Union and the British are sending intelligence agents to deliver and teach us how to use them. Unfortunately, this is a mutual meeting with the Iraqi army."

Only the fact that somewhere in their mind, they registered that this was a secret meeting kept everyone from screaming in outrage. "So that's what you wanted me for!" Barzini snapped, the pieces beginning to come together. He had dealt with them once, and wished never to do so again! Granted, it appeared as if they were the regular army, not the Republican Guard. A fair number of them were just trying to serve their country, just as most other soldiers, but even so, it would be difficult for him.

"How can we possibly trust their kind?" One of them screamed. "My children were killed by those butchers!"

"Kill them and take the weapons for ourselves!" Another suggested.

"Silence; this decision has already been made!" Diyako ordered. Even his own son was looking at him was skepticism, but didn't say anything about his order in public. "I am no happier about this than you, but however much it pains me to admit it, this tactic is necessary. Allah has set us out on a difficult path, this I will not deny, but I will not hide from it, either."

"I agree; we must work with them for the moment." Barzini reluctantly concurred. He knew this was the will of Allah, but even so, he wished the path was less difficult. "Allah will guide us through these difficult times, but when all of this is over, we will be free. I have not gotten as far as I have because I was afraid or unwilling to cooperate with allies I found distasteful."

Barzini saw that the rest were coming to the same reluctant conclusion. It was still something he struggled with every day, despite the brief speech he had given them. The pain of his family's loss was still fresh and he had nothing left of them, not even photographs. He forced it to the back of his mind as best he could, being that he understood that if he did not do so, Barzini would be unable to cooperate with Saddam, possibly dooming all his people to subjugation.

"Perhaps we should separate, go back to our homes until the time comes for us to meet them." One of them suggested.

"Tamo, that is foolish; we would be obvious spies if we venture out now!" A second argued.

"The aliens won't know the difference between us and everyone else!" Tamo insisted. "I've walked right past them multiple times and none of them noticed anything out of the ordinary."

"Since this is a high-risk operation, we cannot afford to take unnecessary chances." Barzini stated. "We can wait in here until then. It isn't like we have many other important tasks to accomplish."

"It is up to you to decide whether to stay or go, but I believe the former is more advisable." Diyako informed. "Our weapons supplies are running low at the moment and insufficient to hurt the aliens to any significant degree. If, however, you choose to leave, the other members of the Peshmerga will need to be informed of this meeting."

_He still considers that it might be a trap. _Barzini realized. He was hoping he was simply being paranoid, but with another member coming to the same conclusion, the danger had only mounted. Still, he was determined to fight for his people's future, and vowed that if Saddam was setting up a lure that they would take his forces to hell with them.

Two of them left, while the rest stayed. Adar left the building to inform the others, his father hoping that such a young man would not attract the aliens' notice. They killed time swapping stories and attempting to get what sleep they could. Barzini curled up in the corner and snored loud enough to echo throughout the whole building.

He woke up to give his daily prayers before setting out on his mission. Barzini knew that he had been falling behind on his prayers to Allah and beseeched his forgiveness for his mistake. He prayed for safety, for guidance, and for victory against the Peshmerga's enemies.

"No, no weapons in the city." Diyako took the assault rifle out of his hands. "We must be invisible, hidden. The invaders will be much more suspicious of bystanders at night. We have a cache we can use; I will show you."

Nervously, Barzini walked outside, doing the best he could not to attract the attention of the Race. Even under cover and darkness and no electricity, he spotted a few men and women outside going about their business. He knew it was likely that some of them were either Peshmerga or their informants. The lizards sometimes caught one and made an example, but they missed ten for each one they discovered.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he got out of the city undetected. They were arriving at the coordinates by dribs and drabs, hoping that small groups would attract less notice. A series of gunshots echoed throughout the city, indicating that a couple of the men had been found and eliminated.

Barzini got lost twice before he found the cache Diyako had mentioned. He knew the area, but in near-total darkness, it was difficult to find his way around. There were hundreds of rifles, grenades, and even a couple MANPADs. Grabbing one of the Stingers in case of aerial attacks, he waited patiently for the others.

It took close to an hour by the time everyone had arrived, at which point it was completely dark outside, with only a slight amount of moonlight and a map to guide them. No one dared use a searchlight, as it would tell any potential enemies exactly where they were. Barzini hissed in pain as he stubbed his toe on a rock, hopping on one foot for several moments.

Three shots were fired in the air. Some readied their rifles, but Diyako ordered them to stand down; that was the pre-arranged signal. The other party was close by, even if they were out of visible range. Not for the first time, Barzini wished they had night-vision goggles, but they were hard to come by in the region.

Deciding to make the first move, he walked forward to see what the Peshmerga was being offered. _And whether this is legitimate or not, _Barzini added to himself, but kept his mouth shut. No point to frightening the men walking alongside him more. The regular army was better than the Republican Guard, but they still made his hair stand on end.

A dozen boxes were dropped next to them. A group of men stood there, waiting calmly. Even in the darkness, Barzini could tell that they were foreigners. Intelligence operatives, unless he was badly mistaken. "We have a delivery for our allies in the Peshmerga." One of them spoke in fluent Kurdish.

"Your assistance is appreciated." Barzini replied, opening the first box cautiously. None of them were small enough to carry back to Simele on hand, meaning that they would have to be very cautious about returning. In the box he opened, he found a BGM-71 TOW unit and a dozen missiles for its use. They would be of great use against the aliens. His men were brave but had few weapons that could damage their tanks; this would help equalize the fight.

"We have more that will be arriving soon." One of the operatives informed. Once Barzini got a close look at him, he realized that he was a member of the Mossad, Israel's intelligence agency. He scowled briefly at that; he cared little for Israel, as did most in the region, but considered Saddam's regime and the aliens far more repugnant so in spite of his brief surprise, it was of little difficulty.

He heard a couple brief sighs of relief that the meeting was going smoothly. Weapons from a dozen trucks were being unloaded as quickly as was practical. Most of them were small arms, but even those would be a great help to the resistance effort. _And I wouldn't mind having the opportunity to introduce Saddam's finest to them once the aliens are gone. _The idea gave him great pleasure.

Not everything went smoothly, however. Lizard aircraft had located the meeting and began dropping bombs on their location. Reflexes honed by battle, Barzini dived behind the nearest rock he could find, eyes wide open for an opportunity to hit back. Muzzle flashes were everywhere as they fired in every direction, although so far, the lizards had not yet sent ground troops. Perhaps they had been found purely by chance. At least Barzini hoped that was the case; he didn't like thinking of betrayal, but couldn't eliminate the possibility.

"Not exactly what I was hoping for." The Mossad operative muttered. He had dived behind the same rock as Barzini, his night vision goggles looking for a target of opportunity.

"Any troops coming for us?" Barzini asked, hoping he would have a better idea than himself. He was forced to yell in the operative's ear in order to make himself heard over the battle.

"Not yet, but I wouldn't doubt they're out there." He responded, slowly crawling out of his hidey-hole and heading towards the nearest heavy weapon he could lay his hands on.

"Have you lost your mind?" Barzini asked. Blasts from lizard tanks cut him off; the lizards either had troops with them or brought them over from nearby bases. He didn't care for the agent, but he was an ally and the Peshmerga had far too few of those. He decided not to use his weapon at the moment; no point in attracting attention until it was necessary.

"This should help equalize things." The operative smiled, slowly hauling the tripod to a concealed location. "They're not skilled fighters, but the lizards are learning." A lizard tank rumbled over the horizon. Barzini gulped and did his best not to soil himself. If they were spotted, they were dead; he doubted the boulder would be much protection against a direct shot.

"Come on, baby, just a little more..." The operative muttered. "Reload just as soon as I give the signal." Barzini picked up one of the warheads, hoping very much that this would not be his last day on Earth.

The tank pounded on their positions mercilessly, with aircraft finishing the job. "Got him!" The operative laughed, launching the missile right at the side of the tank. "Reload! Now!" Barzini hastily did so, hoping that he could move faster than the lizards operating that machine. The first shot had hurt it, but not killed it. The second succeeded in killing the crew before they could get their frontal armor to bear.

It was obvious that they had lost the skirmish, but Barzini felt his morale soar even so. They still managed to make off with many of the weapons and the lizards had still suffered considerable casualties. Barzini knew their losses could be replaced, even if it would take time to do so.

"Are you going to stay around?" Barzini asked. "We could use someone like you." _Jew or not, _He said mentally.

"Yes; that was always the plan." The operative replied.

"In that case... what's your name?" Barzini wondered.

"Reuven... Reuven Russie." He smiled.

XXXXXXXXXX

October 2, 1982:

"I thought that battle would never end." Betvoss sighed as he and his group marched through the terrain. Both eye turrets were in every direction, as the area was rugged and full of hills. They were in constant danger, being that the Tosevites knew the area and the Race did not.

"Yeah, who knew Big Uglies would be able to put up that kind of resistance?" Skyrim agreed. He had been grazed with one bullet and his body armor stopped another, keeping him out of commission for 2 year-tenths. Betvoss had heard that with their primitive medicine, it took Big Uglies far longer than that to be suitable for the field once again. "But Pittsburgh is ours and will stay ours."

"They know what they're doing, certainly." Premas agreed. Like many males of the Race were beginning to do, he wrapped Tosevite clothing around his body to protect himself from the cold. "Is it always so cold on this damned planet?" They were traveling by night in order to give them an advantage with night vision.

"It doesn't seem too bad to me." Votal gave a human-like shrug. Unlike many others in their battalion, he had lived close to the polar regions on Home so he was accustomed to cold to a greater degree than most of his comrades. "Not pleasant, but certainly bearable. In any case, this is a warm region of the lesser continental mass." The Race had succeeded in overrunning Kentucky, West Virginia, and Virginia and Arkansas with little difficulty. Some cities were still contested, but in many, the Americans had not even bothered trying to hold them. Perhaps they were making an impact after all.

All of them kept conversation to a minimum. Sounds of the native animals made them even jumpier than before and the fact that all of them were battle hardened was the only reason none of them opened fire. Betvoss hissed to himself when he accidentally stepped into a small hole.

"Are you all right?" Skyrim asked.

"Are they coming?" Premas worried, crouching down and readying his weapon.

"I apologize; I merely stepped into a hole." Betvoss sighed, cursing himself for doing something so clumsy. "Likely a home for one of the native creatures."

"I'd say those are the least of our worries." Premas' mouth hung open. "At least those creatures aren't liable to shoot at you."

"Truth," Skyrim agreed.

"Watch where you put your feet; the Big Uglies could have mines planted around here." Votal warned. Betvoss already knew as much, but also understood that it was a lesson worth repeating. Even now, some males were convinced that nothing could possibly harm them, though they were becoming fewer and fewer in number every day.

Betvoss eyed the hills, looking for Big Ugly bandits. He knew they were out there somewhere. Every Big Ugly in the area was considered an enemy, and they had an intelligence network that the Race never even dreamed of. They still had better technology, but what they were rapidly finding out was that it could not replace ground information.

He was soon proven right when the Tosevites opened fire. Two of their troopcarriers caught on fire, with the males providing as much covering fire as they could in order to buy the survivors enough time to escape.

"Spread out; if you bunch together, you're dead!" Their radios screamed. Betvoss took their advice without hesitation. Already a third troopcarrier had been hit, this time with no survivors. Even so, he hadn't yet figured out just where the shots were coming from.

"They've got landcruisers!" Skyrim screamed, partly in surprise, partly fear. They were supposed to have destroyed all of them by now. Like most assumptions when it came to the Big Uglies, that one proved to be inaccurate.

"They're over here; blow them to bits!" Betvoss heard one of his fellow males exclaim. Machine gun fire opened up on both sides, while he hoped it would be enough to keep them from advancing. The troopcarriers opened up with their anti-landcruiser rockets, wrecking three of the enemy vehicles. He had no idea whether or not their crews managed to escape.

Even from his position, however, Betvoss could see how they had chosen their spots carefully, where they could fire while revealing only a small part of their machine, giving them considerable protection. He fired nearly an entire clip at a pair of Big Uglies charging towards him. From 300 meters, he had no idea whether or not either of them had actually been hit, but they were at least forced to a stop.

The Race opened up with artillery, sending smoke flying in every direction. Even with his night vision equipment, he found it extremely difficult to see anything in the chaos. "How did such a large force sneak by us without noticing?" Skyrim snarled.

"I don't know, but whatever able failed to notice them should be shoved out the nearest airlock." Betvoss agreed, sounding even angrier than his comrade. Even through the firefight, he could hear cries of pain, telling him that his battalion was taking casualties. Whenever the enemy gave him the slightest hint as to his position, Betvoss fired. He had gone through 3 out of his eight clips just in the past couple minutes.

He skittered back a couple dozen meters. Staying in one place for too long was a very good way to get killed. Betvoss nearly tripped a second time over a grenade launcher. After a brief moment of thought, he picked it up. Whoever its previous owner was, he likely didn't need it anymore.

Betvoss fired at a group of big uglies who stayed too close together, sending the grenade right into the center of the group. Fortunately, even if he was a mere riflemen, he had received extensive training in all handheld weapons the Race used, and thus had little trouble operating the weapon. _I'd bet they'd never seen action before. _Betvoss thought. Experienced soldiers wouldn't have done anything so careless.

"By the emperor, how can we not be advancing on them?" Skyrim complained. Both sides had spread out to make killing each other in large numbers, but dozens of wounded males and burning vehicles meant that the Race was still suffering.

"Keep moving; don't let them know your location." Betvoss declared in lieu of responding. A shell impacted where they had been crouching not ten seconds prior. "If I'd been just a tiny fraction slower..." there was no need to complete the sentence.

"Thank the Emperor that we weren't." Skyrim gasped out, lowering his eyes. Betvoss very briefly did the same, hoping the gesture wouldn't cost him his life. They hid behind a tree, firing at whatever came their way.

Try as they might, though, they could not keep the group of Big Uglies from advancing and slowly fell back, with the remaining troopcarriers providing covering fire. Betvoss nailed another one right in the head, then flattened himself against the ground to provide as small a target as he could.

"I'm down to my last clip!" Skyrim complained. His head went up and his eye turrets spotted more Big Uglies coming from another direction. The instant he shouted a warning, two enemy bullets entered his skull, spraying Betvoss with blood and bone.

Betvoss hissed in horror, dropping his rifle and trembling. He could still feel the blood all over his scales and crumbled to the ground. Some males of the Race had heard the warning through their radios, but not enough. A series of grenades halted them, but he knew it was only temporary.

Betvoss eventually composed himself, promising to take the time to mourn later. He fired the last three grenades, and hastily moved away from the tree, finding better cover a dozen yards away. Absently, he wondered how the Big Uglies treated prisoners. _Hopefully, I won't have to find out by experiment. _He thought.

Bombs were beginning to hit their position. It took him a few moments to realize that the killercraft belonged to the Race, not the Big Uglies. Betvoss hissed in delight; the battle was on the verge of being lost before they arrived.

Race killercraft destroyed most of the Big Ugly landcruisers and troopcarriers immediately. A few Big Uglies were armed with handheld SAMs, but they were designed for hovering killercraft, not the fixed-air ones currently bombing them into oblivion. Elated by the news, Betvoss charged forward, emptying an entire clip in seconds.

The Big Uglies retreated in a matter of minutes, disappearing into the hills once more. Even then, some of them did not give up. Protecting the rest of their fellow Tosevites, a few dozen held the line and even took some Males of the Race with them before they were all injured or dead.

Once the rush of battle wore off, however, Betvoss realized just how high a price they had paid. Eight out of their eleven troopcarriers were destroyed or disabled and close to two hundred of their males were dead, including Skyrim.

About 100 wounded and surrendering Big Uglies were rounded up, while they decided what to do with them. Personally, Betvoss hoped he'd be allowed to blow their brains out, seeing that someone he considered a friend had been killed right in front of him. He clutched his weapon in a death grip, praying to the spirits of Emperors Past that he would be given the order.

Ultimately, though, they decided to take them prisoner. Considering how badly the group had been mangled, their original objectives had been terminated.

XXXXXXXXXX

October 4, 1982:

"Finally, a place where I can relax." Wuppah sighed as he exited his killercraft. Maintenance would make sure that the vehicle was fully fueled without any malfunctioning equipment before his next mission.

They were in an area where the Race had managed to take control, even though resistance was continuing. Wuppah kept his sidearm just in case he was forced to use it, although considering their security, it seemed extremely unlikely.

"We will have your killercraft ready for battle within two daytenths, superior sir." one of the mechanics informed him.

"Thank you; I expect it to be fully functional by that time." Wuppah made the affirmative hand gesture.

"Don't become too complacent; some of the Big Uglies working here are undoubtedly spying for the resistance." Hefron warned his fellow pilots.

"It shall be done," His subordinates replied, although Wuppah considered the warning to be pointless. Most males of the Race who had not learned to keep their guard up at all times were either dead or captured. It made him grateful that they were smart enough not to let the Tosevites working for them actually near the aircraft.

"Seems obvious enough to me," Nesser stated once their superiors were out of earshot. "Do they think we're completely addled enough that we're going to wander off on our own?"

"Sadly, I wouldn't doubt a few are, so our superior's concerns are justified." Atvar replied, defending them. "Intelligence indicates that at least some of the natives consider us to be preferable to their former masters."

"What is this miserable area called, anyway?" Wuppah wondered. He had been on so many missions all around Tosev 3 that they began to blur together.

"India, I believe." Atvar responded, spelling out the strange word slowly. In spite of the problems, all of them were relieved to be here. With Tosev 3's seasons changing for the worse, it was one of the few areas on the planet where they didn't have to bundle up to stay warm. Even so, it seemed kind of chilly to Wuppah.

"I'm going to say what they have for entertainment." Wuppah stated. "I will meet you back here for the next mission."

"What's to see?" Nesser shrugged. "These areas are barely fit for savages, much less properly civilized males."

"I'm not wandering far; just want to make sure I know my way around in case I get into trouble." Wuppah declared and walked off after exchanging good-byes with his flightmales.

He was abruptly stopped by a trio of males carry assault weapons, although he was able to pass through without problems when he revealed his identity card. Wuppah didn't understand why they asked it of males of the Race as well as the Big Uglies, but knew better than to question the arrangement.

"Be careful, pilot; we have had numerous incidents where a Big Ugly working for us opened fire on our males." One of the guard advised him. "No deaths so far, but there have been numerous injuries."

"Yesterday, one of the savages attempted to blow themselves up." The second guard added. "Praise the emperor that it was of primitive manufacture and failed to detonate." All of them lowered their eye turrets at the mention of the Emperor.

"Thank you for the warning," Wuppah nodded. The three of them still looked a little concerned, however, but waved him in.

_How could they possibly harm us here? _Wuppah wondered. He thought he would be able to relax in the comfort of their bases. Based on the guards he had just seen, however, he was beginning to think otherwise. He kept his personal weapon close.

He sat down in a chair and decided not to worry about it for a while. He had been flying far too many missions and needed the rest in order to fight optimally. Not many Big Uglies had been seen in the air lately, but their air defenses were still strong, in spite of how many had been obliterated.

The next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by one of the cooks. "Superior sir, I was ordered to tell you that you need to prepare for another mission once this planet's sun goes down." He handed Wuppah some food.

"Is this stuff safe to consume?" Wuppah wondered. He hadn't seen that kind of food before and looked at it with suspicion. To him, it didn't appear edible.

"It's already been tested and approved by our superiors." The cook responded. "If you're interested in anything else... I can give you this." He held out a small vial of a native substance.

"Thank you, cook; I am going to need the energy." Wuppah responded, tasting it cautiously. It wasn't bad, even though it wasn't salty enough to suit his body. No matter; he could get salt tablets at the desk if necessary.

"Do you want this as well?" the cook inquired. "I guarantee it'll be the best thing you've ever tasted in your life, by the emperor." Both lowered their eyes.

Wuppah reached his right claw out, then abruptly stopped, thinking it over. Ultimately, he grabbed, deciding that there was little harm in doing so. If he wanted to eat it at a later time, he could. "Thank you; I'm sure it is.", Wuppah pushed himself to his feet, gulping down his food in the process.

An alarm started blaring, and Wuppah hit the ground as soon as he could. Could the Big Uglies on this part of Tosev 3 still have the resources to launch an assault against their base, after all? He looked in every direction for possible attack, even though since he wasn't infantry, he didn't know precisely what to do.

In the distance, he heard their close weapons systems working furiously. Their antimissiles had run dry and captured Big ugly factories wouldn't turn any new ones out until in the first part of this planet's slow turns around its star. He silently wished them luck, wishing that he was still out in his killercraft. Inside his machine, he was still in danger, but still had some control over his fate. Here, he could only watch and hope he wasn't one of the casualties.

A surprising number were shot down, but far from all of them. Fortunately for Wuppah, none of them were in his vicinity. "Praise the emperor for that..." he lowered his eye turrets. He already came close to death once and had no wish to do so a second time.

However, these weren't typical bombs; he'd never seen their like before. Wuppah rushed over attempting to help a fallen comrade. He was no medic, but all males received medical training in preparation for their conquest. The male was badly burned, his scales a strange shade of yellow, and he seemed to have difficulty breathing as well.

As he got close, however, his next breath was nearly as painful as his broken arm was. _By the emperor!_. Still resolved to help his comrades, he closed his eyes, held his breath and dragged them out of harm's way. The wind was blowing the weapon away from them, for which he deeply thanked the emperor.

Once the attack was over, males saw to their wounded. Wuppah was once again forced to lay in a hospital bed as they studied him, trying to figure out how to cure him. From the sounds of it, it was a weapon that they had never heard of. _What... what is it?_ Wuppah wondered, beginning to dread the answer. It was agonizing to breathe, sending spikes of pain each time he did so.

After deciding that he wasn't in imminent danger of death, they rushed off to examine males that were far more worse than him. Wuppah carefully listened to the conversations surrounding him. From what he had gathered, casualties were minimal except in one building where the weapon dropped through the window. So far, no deaths, but based on the horror he was looking at, Wuppah thought that death might have been kinder to them.

They injected him with a serum designed to accelerate growth of new lung tissue. The burns inside weren't too severe and both the doctors monitoring him told him how lucky he was. _If this is good luck, I don't want to see the bad. _Wuppah thought. Fortunately, while their military technology was only moderately more advanced than the Tosevites', their medicine was far greater. Wuppah even had a few cloned organs in cold sleep in case they were permanently damaged in combat.

To his right, he saw Hefron hauled into the medical bay and Wuppah was open-mouthed in horror. Close to half his body was burned, the flesh burned almost down to the bone in some locations. He was on a respirator, with doctors giving him the serum in hopes of repairing his lung tissue. Unlike Wuppah, his lungs were too damaged to breathe on their own and his pained gasps echoed throughout the room.

Having little else to do, Wuppah ate the contents of the vial that he had been given earlier. A rush unlike any he had ever known filled his veins. He felt powerful, invincible. The Big Uglies were small, weak, easily overcome. Nothing they could do would even come close to harming him! In the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't true, but it was better than thinking about his fellow males around him gasping for breath.

XXXXXXXXXX

October 7, 1982:

Tosev 3's hologram currently held the attention of all of the assembled shiplords. Although tempted to show the warriors the probe had shown them 1,680 years ago, Atvar refrained. They could not dwell on might-have-beens at the moment. They needed to deal with the current situation.

Not that Atvar was particularly looking forward to it. A growing number of shiplords were becoming unhappy at the way the war was conducted. "We are here today, Shiplords, to evaluate and discuss the results of our current war of conquest." It had been 3/4 of a year since it began, half that if measured by Tosev 3's long years.

The hologram flickered into different colors. Red were areas that the Race currently controlled. "As you can see, we have consolidated control over the southern half of the main continental mass, which the natives refer to as Africa, although resistance efforts are continuing." They weren't a serious threat unlike the more technologically advanced areas of the world, but they had still lost some landcruisers and troop carriers. "Here, the weather works with us. Although humid, this area is still comfortable."

"And this area here... in the center of the main continental mass, is also falling to us, though resistance is considerably higher. The only empires still holding out against us are... Israel and Turkey. We have also had luck with assimilating some of the natives to our will. Much of it could even be called Home."

"What about the areas that continue to resist us?" Straha pushed. "Why have we been unable to defeat them?" Atvar hissed in displeasure. A growing number of Shiplords were becoming unhappy about the way the war was going and seemed to rally around Straha as their leader.

"There are multiple questions to that answer." Atvar replied, contempt oozing into his voice. "To our misfortune, our most formidable opponents are in the Northern Hemisphere. The weather is changing and not to our advantage, and thus our advance has been slowed, but not stopped. The Tosevites have been unable to stop us, except for a couple of localized counterattacks." Atvar was putting the best spin on the news that he could and all the assembled shiplords knew it.

Straha was not satisfied and stood up from his seat. "Even areas that you claim are under our control still teem with resistance. Our losses have been horrendous, with no end in sight. Why have we not put an end to it? Even worse, how have they managed to destroy our starships?"

"Their military technology is nearly as advanced as ours." Kirel reminded his rival. He pressed a couple buttons to activate a hologram on one of the Big Ugly tanks they had captured. "This is the most advanced tank that the natives have. If you would look at its specifications, it is dangerously close to being as advanced as our own. Fortunately, they do not very many of them and their air power is all but exterminated."

"Not only that, but the Tosevites have experience in real combat, not just simulations." Atvar reminded. "In both numbers and technology, we surpass them, but due to their experience, they have hurt us over and over again."

"We should use explosive metal bombs on the filthy Tosevites!" one of the assembled Shiplords declared, one of Straha's faction. "Show them the power of the Race!"

"The colonization fleet is behind us, in case you have forgotten." Atvar reminded. "They will not thank us for bringing them a contaminated world."

"What about the males fighting now?" Straha pointed out. "We have lost nearly half a million, which does not include the wounded or how much equipment has been destroyed. We must take more aggressive action if we are to secure our conquests. A few explosive metal bombs will allow us to regain the initiative and wage the war on our terms."

"Have you not forgotten that the Tosevites are likely to have them as well?" Kirel reminded. "We overran dozens of deactivated power plants that run on explosive material, indicating that they know how to produce it. Our intelligence officers also cannot be completely confident that we have completely eliminated their existing stockpile."

"There may be an alternate strategy." Atvar pointed out. "Intelligence has indicated that instead of hydrogen, most of their military equipment runs on hydrocarbons. The largest supplier appears to be the Middle East, which has already been conquered, but they have enough local supplies to keep their war machine running. Destroy these and they will grind to a halt. It will not matter how many they build if there is no fuel to drive them."

The shiplords muttered among themselves, some agreeing with the plan; others still wanted to use explosive metal bombs. Atvar was hoping that would be unnecessary. They still had most of their 3,000 warheads intact and available for use.

"This may in principle help us with the goal on conquest." Straha replied with more respect than Atvar would have expected from him. "However, how can we be sure they will be enough to truly be effective? Combine this with other, more severe measures and we will be able to crush them completely."

Atvar wondered why the idea did not occur to him before. He was too used to judging the behavior and technology of the Tosevites with respect to the Race. The longer the war went on, the more they realized just how different the aliens really were. Neither Home, Halless 1 or Rabotev 2 ever had the enormous hydrocarbon reserves that Tosev 3 appeared to possess. "Yes, I will give orders to strike all known... to use their term for it, oil production plants."

"It shall be done," The Shiplords responded.

"What about the new weapons the surviving empires are deploying against us?" one of them asked, sounding more concerned than accusatory.

Atvar had seen the reports of what the weapon did, which was not pleasant. It appeared as if the first one had to be used by bombers, and most Tosevite planes had been destroyed. The second, on the other hand... the enemy still had plenty of artillery and many white phosphorus rounds. Once the Americans began using it, so did everyone still in the field against them.

"We are doing everything possible to eliminate their artillery and we have overrun several factories of the material which will allow us to respond in kind." Kirel stated, defending his fleetlord.

"Even if the war is not yet won, we can still be proud of the success we have so far." Atvar repeated. "As you know, we made conquering their industrial areas high priority and much of it is either controlled by us or in ruin. The Big Uglies can go on hurting us for a while. They have no hope of beating us."

"Destroy the most heavily defended cities with explosive-metal bombs and our job will become much easier." Straha continued to push, unwilling to give up. "I'm sure the exalted fleetlord can come up with a suitable number of targets."

Atvar was highly tempted to just do so. With the conquest becoming as costly as it was, explosive metal bombs were looking more and more appealing. If not for the colonization fleet, it was likely he would have already used them. The other complication was that their foes also possessed them, likely in greater numbers. "At the present time, no." He finally stated after a long moment of thought.

Straha glared furiously and for a few moments, it appeared as if he would try to overrule Atvar's decision. That would take 75% of the shiplords to do so, but it was possible. All eyes were on him to see what he would say next. "It shall be done, exalted fleetlord." His tone was all respect, but Atvar saw murder in his eyes.

"Now that the issue is settled, we will redouble our efforts to destroy their hydrocarbon supplies." Atvar declared. "I will be honest: the road ahead is likely to be long, and our struggle will be difficult, but we are the Race! We do not give up in the face of despair! We do not surrender in the face of difficulty! We will fight on, we will persevere and we will be victorious!"

"Exalted Fleetlord, I have news!" Pshing rushed into the room, looking to be on the verge of panic. It was considered greatly disrespectful to interrupt a shiplord's meeting except under extraordinary circumstances.

"What is it, Pshing?" Atvar wondered what calamity had happened now.

"The first part of the news is that India is now using a new and until now unknown form of warfare against us." Pshing gulped. "The Big Uglies of that region are beginning to launch chemical weapons against us. There have been few deaths, but over a hundred injuries, many of them severe."

"Have our researchers devise countermeasures as quickly as possible." Atvar responded. He would give more detailed orders once the meeting was over. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes, several missiles have been launched at our forces approaching Paris." Pshing informed. "Our analysts believe these to be thermonuclear in nature."

"Have the ship closest to orbit intercept them immediately." Atvar ordered. "Do you know where they are coming from?"

"Based on our satellite photos... these were launched from an underwater vessel." Pshing reluctantly told him, fearing the Fleetlord's wrath. "The boat has already submerged and will be extremely difficult to hunt down.

Atvar had a difficult time keeping his feet at that news. He thought that they had destroyed most of the Big Uglies' explosive-metal bombs, but he would never have imagined that they would stockpile them onto their ships. On Home, seas were of minimal strategic importance. Tosev 3 was a different matter altogether. "Send a warning to the troops within the blast radius, give them time to get into whatever cover they can." Atvar ordered, Pshing rushing off to carry out his orders.

All the shiplords could do now was hope that they were able to shoot them down before they reached their targets. Atvar anxiously awaited news. From orbit, it should be simple, but anyone involving the Big Uglies was never simple, especially since they only had a limited supply of antimissiles that were capable of shooting down ICBMs and SLBMs.

The first report was that out of eight missiles, three of them had been shot down within two minutes, which was welcome news. They were easiest to destroy during the boost phase, but far more difficult afterwards. "We should teach them a lesson!" Straha demanded. "It is obvious that they still have enough weapons to threaten us, and we should prepare mass retaliation!"

Just for once, Atvar wondered if that strategy should be carried out. The Big Uglies were far more stubborn and determined to resist than the Race's previous conquests in addition to their advancement; perhaps more deadly incentives were required.

"What now, Exalted Fleetlord?" Kirel asked. Atvar wished he had a good answer for that.

"Bring the missiles down and then we will prepare an appropriate response." Atvar ordered, fully aware that this was likely insufficient, but the Race tended to wait when confronted with an unfamiliar situation; a strategy that did not serve them on Tosev 3.

All they could do now was wait for news. Twenty Earth minutes later, Atvar heard what he had dreaded the most: two bombs had succeeded in getting through and devastating his advance forces. Casualties were assumed to be heavy.

"We will not let this go unpunished!" Atvar promised. If he did nothing, the shiplords could very well decide they wanted a new fleetlord. Already there was major grumbling about the progress of the war. "Since we do not know which Tosevite power launched the missiles, all of them will be punished." He went to the computer and checked a list of cities. "Prepare a strike against... Vladivostok, Leningrad, Copenhagen, Paris, Portsmouth, Chicago, and Miami. The Tosevites have started this exchange. We will see if they are willing to fight after such losses. In the meantime, our researchers will study ways to hunt down and destroy these underwater boats."


	9. Chapter 9

October 2, 1982:

_If only we had gotten out in time, _Rafael wished for the third time that today. Little else had been in his mind since the aliens had arrived and marched towards his city.

In the end, though, they hadn't taken it. Los Angeles County was surrounded but the city itself was still in American hands. A hastily gathered military from the residents along with around 30,000 Canadian troops succeeded in forming a barrier.

"Are we ever going to be able to get out of here?" Nena whined. She had lost an unhealthy amount of weight. The city might have been held, but very little in the way of supplies were available. The stores had been completely cleaned up and what little pilots and ships could bring in was not nearly enough to keep three million people alive.

"We'll get out soon, I promise." Rafael lied to her. Two weeks after the siege had began, they held a citywide lottery as to who would be allowed to evacuate the city, basing it of the date of birth and age of the recipient. Several thousand were being rescued from the city every day, either to join the military or to stay in hastily-built refugee camps.

Of course, evacuation had risks of its own. Rafael had personally seen planes carry desperate, frightened people shot down without mercy. Fleeing by sea was only slightly safer. Despite the risk, he hoped that his family would be called soon. Anything was better than waiting around powerlessly, wondering if you were going to die today.

Currently, his father was working in one of the factories that was busy producing trucks and tanks to assist in the defense of the city. It was hard, miserable work, but Edwardo wanted to do something productive. Rafael would have joined, but they were not taking anyone under eighteen.

Bombs and artillery shells had become too common for many people to get upset about, even though there was a considerable death toll as a result. A bomb had been dropped only one hundred feet from their own apartment, blowing the windows to pieces. His mother had been cut by a few shards of broken glass, but other than that, his family had been fine.

His stomach growled loudly. Rafael's body was beginning to adjust to the lack of food; only 1,500 calories a day for all but the most essential people and even then, there were fears that it might have to be cut back further in the near future. He had never been heavy, but the last time he checked the scale, he had lost fifteen pounds since the siege began.

Rafael gave a silent prayer for his family, hoping that all of them would be able to get out of their situation alive. He stayed inside as much as possible, only going out when absolutely necessary. He wanted to conserve his energy, burn as little food as he reasonably could. Nena and Bianca still had enough energy in spite of everything to run around and play.

Walking carefully through his home- the only light they received was through thin cracks of wood on their boarded-up windows- he sat down in the easy chair. When they were not facing bombardment, the greatest obstacle was simply boredom. They had no electricity and it was too dark to read much, so there was nothing to distract him from his hunger.

"Come on, hurry up." Rafael demanded. He knew it wasn't fair- his mother was doing everything she could for him and his sisters- but his hunger was fraying his temper. _I hope nothing happens to her. _They had been rubbed of their daily ration card once, which was not an experience he wanted to repeat. It had been a very hungry, miserable day. By that evening, his dad had screamed at them all to shut up and that the next kid to complain would be slapped.

After what seemed like an eternity but was in fact only fifteen minutes, Evelyn arrived home with what they were waiting for. "Eat this slowly," She instructed. "It's all we're getting for the entire day."

Rafael eagerly opened it up, not caring what the contents were. Inside the foil were two ears of corn, sweet potatoes, beans, and a small amount of meat. It looked large at a glance, but this was his entire 1,500 calorie ration. He ate as slowly as he could bring himself to do, but after two minutes, 80% of the food was gone.

He forced himself to put the last few bits away, knowing that he would need the energy this evening. Rafael's stomach was demanding more food, saliva swirling in his mouth, but he only just managed to control himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed both of his sisters managed to save close to half of their food. They were smaller and needed less; food rations were distributed by number of household members, not age.

More shelling was heard in the distance, although nothing was landing anywhere close to where he was. Rafael was well aware that their apartment building would not survive a direct hit. "When are we leaving, Mama?" Bianca asked.

"As soon as we can," Evelyn promised, although she did not say when that would be. A lot of it would depend on luck.

Rafael was still hungry, but it was no longer tearing at him, which allowed his mind to wander elsewhere. _Be nice if I was a few years older, _Rafael thought. He wanted to volunteer, wanted to fight back against the aliens, but no one would accept someone so young. He had read stories of boys as young as him fighting the Germans and Japanese in World War II. However, they had far better records now even in the current chaos and Rafael still looked like a boy. Puberty had not yet fully kicked in for him.

"Are we going to die, Mom?" Rafael suddenly asked her. It wasn't his original plan, but the words slipped out. It was never far from his mind.

"Of course not, sweetie." Evelyn hugged him tightly, trying to convince herself. "I know it's not going to be easy, but we will get through this, I promise you."

"Thanks, Mom." He wasn't convinced, though. Yesterday, he had gone to a library, reading about the blitz in World War II. Rafael had not had any great interest in history, not until now, but he wanted to know how the British were able to cope with the constant danger. The only realistic way he found was to stay indoors as much as possible; even that was far from sure protection.

That evening, he listened carefully for the lottery in his neighborhood, but yet again, his family had not been chosen. Bianca broke into tears while Nena comforted her as best she could. Edwardo came home utterly exhausted and in no condition to do anything but sit in his chair and eat his allotted food. As he was a factory worker, he received 2,000 calories instead of 1,500.

Conversation was limited and quiet; nobody really knew what to say. All of them wanted to appear strong for the others, but the entire family felt like they were on the verge of falling apart. 6,000 people had been gathered up throughout Los Angeles and evacuated to American-held territory. _It'll be forever before we can get out of here, _Rafael complained, but did not want to voice his fears aloud.

As it turned out, many of the evacuees had been sunk when the aliens spotted U.S. ships and sunk them; civilian ships were not as strongly built as military ones and thus could endure less damage. Perhaps half of the people evacuated that day were now at the bottom of the ocean.

Rafael and his siblings listened at the edge of the doorway when his parents left to talk in private, discussing the feasibility of fleeing on foot. "Damn lizards are shooting anyone who tries to get out; they don't care that we're civilians." Evelyn pointed out. The couple debated their options, what they could do, and whether they could survive out there on their own.

_Can't stay, can't go. _Rafael knew as much. They were stuck in Los Angeles.

October 3, 1982:

Rance Auerbach was furious. Their trump card had been utterly and completely blown. Now that the Race knew that they possessed nuclear weapons despite their best efforts, the war had just gotten a lot more dangerous.

Not only was the Race aware of their continued existence, it also made it easier for the other powers to use them. Many of his fellow generals were pushing hard for a nuclear strike against Race-held territory. Enforcing the prohibition was going to be almost impossible now. Reagan was still refusing requests, saying it was not the right time to do so, but it was quite possible that he might bend in the future.

Miami had been hit with two bombs, destroying a nuclear submarine that had been docked there. Fortunately, they had many others, but that was still one weapon out of their arsenal. The death rate was expected to be around 150,000 and it would have been worse if they did not have advance warning, allowing people to flee to the best available cover. The Race made an attempt against Chicago, but American planes had intercepted the alien flight wing.

Paris, Portsmouth, Vladivostok, and Copenhagen had all been hit. While not completely destroyed- the buildings and urban cities being much stronger than Hiroshima's in 1945- the cities had nonetheless suffered massive damage. Thus far, he had not heard any reports of casualties.

_It makes we wish we were fighting world war II again. _America's casualties had already been far higher in the three months the war had been fought than they had lost in four years. Hundreds of thousands of civilians were likely dead and they were drafting any man who was capable of holding a gun. Some would have never been allowed into the military in the past, but his country did not have such luxuries anymore. They were in the position the Soviet Union was in 1941.

So far, South America and Africa had been ignored, which was working to their advantages. The Race still had not figured out the importance of sea travel on Earth, allowing them to receive valuable raw materials from those countries. Whatever quarrels they had with the major powers disappeared, at least temporarily. If the United States fell, they were next and they weren't strong enough to fight the Race by themselves.

Currently, they had lost Arizona, New Mexico, and much of Nevada in the southwest. They simply didn't have enough men or material to slow them down much. California would have been the same if not for the Los Angeles siege. However appalling the conditions were, it was vital to the war effort. Many military and civilian pilots both braved the blockade to bring supplies in and civilians out.

The city had become a symbol of hope and resistance against the alien forces. Close to 200,000 soldiers and civilians had died since it began in late June, and some officers believed that the city should be abandoned in order to save civilian lives due to the worsening conditions. Reagan had refused, citing how many Race troops were currently tied down in that area. Auerbach agreed, but he wasn't blind to the kind of suffering going on there. He just hoped it would save more lives in the future.

Close to one million people were joining the armed forces per month. The only qualifications were that they would be able to carry a gun and take orders. Even some women were being allowed to fight; Auerbach didn't necessarily approve of that, but the country was in no position to turn them down. Race deaths were now estimated at about one million worldwide. Other reports went higher or lower, but one million was considered at least relatively accurate.

He wanted to be out there, fighting on the front lines, but he had been ordered to a desk job, much to his chagrin. However, Auerbach was determined to do his job as best as he was able. Currently, he was mapping areas that could be hit by nuclear weapons without posing a major risk to the civilian population.

One major problem was that Civil Defense wasn't taken as seriously as he had hoped. He had heard many state that there was no doubt, that humanity could not survive a nuclear war, that it endangered Mutually Assured Destruction. Before the Race arrived, he worried that the Soviet Union's belief that they could win a nuclear exchange might lead to disaster, but the invasion had spurred investment in civil defense, as least as much as was possible.

_We can't protect them completely. _They had enough planes and surface-to-air missile batteries for a reasonable chance at protecting a major city, although even then, it was not an easy task. Those under 500,000 people, however, were mostly on their own, save for whatever cover civilians could find.

Most ICBMs had been used or destroyed, but the submarines were mostly intact, many bombers were still active, and tactical nuclear weapons had not been badly affected. The CIA had no reliable estimate for how many the Race possessed: anywhere from 1,000 to 20,000 warheads. It was hoped further intelligence would give them more accuracy.

"If they want a war, we'll give them one." Auerbach vowed.

XXXXXXXXXX

October 16, 1982:

_Sometimes, I think I'm going to go insane in here. _Alexis thought as he paced around the subway, at least as best he could. Since Paris didn't have enough fallout shelters to protect everyone, they decided to use the subway as a makeshift shelter. If he remembered his history correctly, there was someone in Hiroshima who survived just 150 meters away from ground zero in a concrete building.

Even so, he was luckier than many. Alexis was already underground when the bomb detonated over Paris. The first was intercepted and destroyed, but the second got through, destroying much of the city and killing an unknown number of people, but it was likely to be in the hundreds of thousands. Paris was among the most densely populated cities in the world.

He was far from the only one. Throughout the underground tunnels, they existed countless people, soldiers and civilians alike. They had been cut off from any news about the outside and nobody dared venture out for dear of dying from radiation poisoning. They had all lived with the possibility that the world would end in nuclear fire, so some had made preparations, but in many cases, it hadn't helped them any.

Alexis had cheered when he saw the two nuclear weapons go off in the distance, killing a good portion of the lizards marching to the capital. They were ready to fight for the city tooth and nail, but evidently, his superiors had other ideas to confront them. Unfortunately, there were also severe consequences of doing so.

He had been about three kilometers away from ground zero when the bomb detonated, a range that would surely have killed had he been caught out in the open. Alexis had yet to hear any news about his fellow soldiers, however. The ones in his vicinity were individuals he had never met.

_I'm still luckier than many, _Alexis reminded himself. He was still alive and not suffering from radiation poisoning. At the same time, he couldn't relax. His parents were living in territory occupied by the lizards, and he had not heard from them for months. For that matter, they may very well have thought that he was dead. He had been stuck down there for weeks.

A cough made him jump at attention. Not everyone had managed to get out in time. There had been either brave or insane volunteers to go outside with whatever protection they were able to scrounge together and look for other survivors. Some had been located, quite a few more than Alexis had originally thought possible. Not all of them were dying, either. Some were in decent shape, at least for the time being. The fact that over half of Paris had already been evacuated helped lower the number of deaths.

Alexis ate part of his daily ration, having little else to do at the current time. The lights were dim, but they were bright enough to where he could at least mostly know where he was going. "So how long are we stuck down here?" He heard one of the civilians ask.

"I don't know; aren't these things supposed to last for thousands of years?" A woman worried. "We could be stuck down here forever!"

"It's the end of the world!" A third screamed.

"We're fine as long as we stick together and don't panic!" One of the soldiers interrupted immediately. Alexis was well aware that panic could be just as fatal as the radiation itself and could rapidly grow out of control if not quelled quickly. "We've got food, we've got water, so let's wait it out until help arrives, ok?!"

He personally wasn't sure it would, but it seemed to calm down the fearful group. Not all of them were civilians, either. Some of the soldiers were only barely keeping their composure. Alexis could hear tears coming from some of the people around him, although it was too dark for him to be able to see exactly who it was. This was far from an ideal shelter, but was evidently sufficient to keep them alive. Alexis let loose a small tremble at the idea of being stuck indefinitely. He had been claustrophobic as a child and even now, dark, small spaces made him nervous.

Absently, he wondered what emergency services could do for them. _Assuming there's anything left... _Alexis wished he hadn't had that thought. Last he heard, multiple thermonuclear bombs were launched at France, but he knew nothing else. In the forefront of his mind, there was the fear that his beloved country had been wiped out in a sea of mushroom clouds, and there was no doubt in his mind that he was far from the only one.

None of them knew how much time passed; it could have been minutes, hours, days. The makeshift group gathered a few more volunteers to go to the surface in order to find survivors. It had been over two weeks since the bombs were dropped and it was hoped that the radiation was such that it was not instantly lethal. On a personal level, Alexis believed that they already located as many people as they could, but could help but admire their bravery nonetheless. He was a soldier, a veteran and had been in combat almost from the time the invasion started, but he could not find courage anymore.

He wasn't about to voice his opinion, however. It was a noble gesture, even if it seemed futile to him, and in fact they had rescued numerous people. "How are any of the buildings still standing?" He heard a man inquire near him, speaking in a low tone. "My brother went out there, and he had there's still plenty of standing buildings and people taking shelter in the basements."

"I have no goddamn idea." A woman, whom Alexis assumed was his wife or girlfriend, responded. "All I know is I'm sick of this place, and all those fucking lizards! Why the hell did they launch that bomb in the first place?"

_Because otherwise Paris would belong to the lizards, you stupid bitch. _Alexis mentally snarled, but his irritation faded. Everyone was on edge, and he was having a noticeably difficult time controlling his temper as well. For all he knew, she could be dealing with the deaths of loved ones as well.

From what he remembered of his nuclear survival training, it was most dangerous during the first 48 hours and that nobody should go outside for any reason at all, no matter how brief it might be. Alexis was unsure of the process after that, but if venturing outside was necessary, wrapping yourself in thick layers of clothing was recommended. It had been two weeks, so it should be relatively safe, but Alexis had yet to volunteer. As much food as possible was being brought into the ruins.

"This may not even be the last bomb," Alexis whispered, hoping nobody else heard him. There were two bombs launched towards Paris, not one, even if the first was intercepted. He had no idea how many bombs the lizards had or how many they had used. More could be on their way, and he doubted that even underground, they could survive if they were at ground zero.

Wanting something to do, he got to his feet and looked over all the occupants. Alexis had already administered first aid to a few of them, but some of them were suffering just as much from psychological effects. A couple could be heard in the distance with nightmares, thrashing about in all directions.

He hoped that he would have news soon about the soldiers he was serving with, even if it was currently unlikely. Alexis hadn't necessarily liked all of them, but they were protecting France, just as he was, not to mention the multiple occasion where they saved his life. They had gotten separated when they learned an air raid was imminent.

_Ok, we've got enough food to last us for approximately three weeks, assuming we're careful. _Alexis thought things over carefully. Water would last them about a month. Open water was likely to be contaminated; underground and concealed sources would be a much better bet. "So nothing from the river..." Alexis muttered.

Nevertheless, he was beginning to think that they would survive this after all.

XXXXXXXXXX

October 19, 1982:

"So why exactly did they send us outside of the city?" Thomas wondered as they marched through the forests. It wasn't completely unpopulated, but they were far from the center of the city, and their groups had not seen another human being for over a week.

"How the hell would I know?" Melanie groaned, her feet aching with every step. None of the previous civilians had gotten a lot of endurance training. Hell, they barely received any training at all. They were drilled as much as possible for three weeks and then sent outside of the city while the soldiers fought as hard as they could to keep the lizards out of it.

"Would you rather be in the city right now?" Asked Corporal James Garland, a Canadian. Most of the soldiers escorting the half-trained, poorly-equipped civilians were Canadian in an effort for the U.S. to free more of their own men for the coming fight. Their group had around two hundred people in it, a mixture of soldiers and civilians. Even from here, they could hear the artillery shells impacting on their home.

"Okay, point taken." Thomas admitted. "Still, my feet are killing me. If I haven't lost ten pounds, it'd be a miracle."

"Will you shut up?" Melanie snapped at him. "None of us are doing any better!" As soon as she screamed at him, she felt remorse. All of their tempers were on edge, not only because of the enormous danger they were in, but because their city was being bombed back to the stone age.

"Spread out, damn it!" They were ordered. "You want those goddamn lizards to kill you all at once?" The soldiers did so automatically when they were traveling, while the others tended to bunch together. Melanie knew it was right; they'd be easy prey for any passing lizard aircraft. Unfortunately, they just didn't instinctually knew where the best concealment and cover was. None of them had actually been in combat yet, but she knew that it was likely going to be only a matter of time.

"Reminds me of when I was a little kid; played out here all the time." Katherine mused. Unlike Melanie and her brother, she was actually kind of enjoying herself, with an M-16 on her shoulder. "Played hide and seek with Uncle James and Aunt Elizabeth. Come on, Melanie, you remember."

"I also remember you got lost and cried for three hours before we could find you." Melanie reminded.

"No, I didn't!" Katherine protested. "I was just playing a game, and managed to stay hidden from you for three hours. See?" She walked quieter than Melanie. While Melanie did her best, it was almost like she deliberately crushed every branch she came across. Thomas was a lot heavier and had an even harder time. Now that the leaves had changed and were starting to fall, they were practically putting up a "shoot me right here" sign.

Fortunately, the strong wind helped with concealing their noise. Melanie briefly stopped and put on her jacket, since her shivering was beginning to get out of control. She felt better afterwards, but was still a little chilly. Another month or so, she'd have to wear her coat as well.

"Why is it so damn cold?" One of them complained. Melanie looked over and saw a middle-aged man shivering. Personally, she thought he was too old to fight, but they needed everyone they could get their hands on. "It's never like this in the city."

"Actually, there would be two reasons for that." Thomas responded. "The first is because of the wind chill factor, even though it's actually slightly warmer than normal. The second is the Urban Heat Island effect. All the concrete and asphalt absorbs all the sunlight, and..." He went on for the next couple of minutes explaining the process.

Instead of responding, the man made a point to get as far away from him as possible. Melanie had seen that many times before; her brother answering a rhetorical question.

"Ok, halt." the First Lieutenant ordered; Melanie had yet to learn his name, but he didn't look any older than she was. There were visible sighs of relief as they sat down while trying to conceal themselves from the enemy to the best of their ability.

"Quite an adventure, isn't it?" Thomas gave an ironic laugh. "Still, it's probably better here than in the cities." He pulled out an MRE. "Would you like a Meal Rejected by the Enemy?"

"No, I'd like a Meal, Rarely Edible." Melanie laughed. Both of them had been listening to the nicknames that the soldiers had been giving the rations. Nevertheless, she opened one of them and began to gulp down the ham inside. She intended on regaining as much energy as she could before she got moving again. "What are you doing? You can eat now, you know."

"Trying to keep an eye out for the enemy," Thomas responded, looking up at the sky and through the forest. "Their vehicles are quiet as hell, much more than ours, so they can sneak up on us if we're not careful." He was right, but Melanie had been too exhausted to think about it. The instant he mentioned it, she began to look around, subconsciously putting herself into a smaller corner to minimize the target.

"Wish I'd thought of it," Melanie admitted. "And I don't even know the signs that the enemy is nearby."

"None of us do, not really." Thomas sighed. "On the bright side, if I somehow manage to get out of this alive, I'll be in shape for the first time in years." He moved away from Melanie by around a dozen feet. "I'm a bigger target than you, so if I get it, I don't want anything happening to you as well."

Melanie sighed sadly, continuing to eat so she didn't have to think about what came next. Even if they had not yet been in combat, the odds were good that they would be soon. Would she even be able to fight? Could she point her weapon at another living thing with the intent of murder? _I'll find out soon enough, _Melanie thought. She'd been in her share of fights, but never had they had the slightest chance of turning deadly.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she failed to notice someone coming up from behind her until it was too late. She was pinned to the ground and grabbed her weapon before she realized who it was. "Katherine, you bitch, I nearly shot you!" Melanie exclaimed, still taking deep breaths. "You scared the hell out of me!"

"You should have seen your face," Katherine giggled.

"Don't do that again, all right?" Melanie groaned, throwing a mock punch at her.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers ran into the camp, screaming: "The lizards are coming this way! Spread out, stay down, and be quiet!" There was a marked difference between the trained soldiers and conscripts. Melanie gave Thomas a hand up, knowing that while he was strong, he didn't move very quickly.

The three of them hid themselves in the leaves and branched, about 100 yards next to the road. Most of the roads into Cleveland had been wrecked in order to slow the lizards down, but Highway 322 was still intact, even if it was covered in leaves. So far, however, they had seen no sign of the enemy, and Melanie would have been happy to keep it that way.

"I can't see a damn thing out of these." Thomas complained, handing the binoculars to Katherine. "Can you see anything?"

"Hold on, let me see." Katherine muttered, adjusting the binoculars, moving closer to get a better look. She was only about ten yards away from the road when she sprinted back, on the edge of panic. "They're here! They're coming!" She managed to gasp out before concealing herself and attaching an M203 grenade launcher to her weapon.

"They gave you a grenade launcher?" Thomas asked in astonishment. Melanie elbowed him in the ribs to get him to shut up. They gradually moved forward, hoping they wouldn't be slaughtered before they had a chance to strike. None of them were sure just how concealed they really were, however.

When they were about 200 yards away, a pair of anti-tank missiles were launched, wrecking the lead vehicle. The lizards that survived the direct attack ran for cover, although only a single individual made it; the rest were either wounded or dead. A second armored personnel carrier was wrecked in the exact same fashion as the first, although this time, there were no fatalities among them. Melanie mentally cheered; perhaps they could survive this after all.

They weren't asleep forever, though, and redeployed to meet the new threat. Fortunately, they had no tanks or else the group would have no chance whatsoever. Just as the Americans and Canadians did, the lizards ducked for cover and hid themselves in the grass and leaves. Indeed, they had slightly better luck because their skin color offered better concealment.

Melanie gulped, sweat pouring down her forehead even though it was barely forty degrees out. She was only barely able to keep hold of the weapon. Thomas fired a few shots in their direction, although it was highly doubtful that he hit anything. "Come on, Melanie, do something!" Katherine cursed at her. The lizards slowly moved into the forest, spreading into two smaller groups in order to avoid being surrounded.

Reluctantly, she opened fire on where she thought the lizards were coming from. Almost no one could actually see anything because of the forest, but they worked in their favor, since the lizards had superior firepower. She crawled on her belly for a few feet, slithering through the dirt. Katherine was on her right, while Thomas was eight feet behind her, making sure they weren't ambushed from behind.

Melanie's ears were ringing even with her ear protectors on. None of them could see a single living soul through the foliage, human or lizard. Cries here and there informed them that some members of the group were not going to make it through the firefight. Machine gun fire was everywhere, on both sides, though it seemed to her untrained ears that the American/Canadian group had a slight advantage.

"Where the hell is everyone?" Thomas complained, but neither of them could hear him through all the noise. Melanie moved towards it, even though her whole body was turning to jelly. She took a few more deep breaths and tightened her grip on the rifle.

_ Please, god, let me live through this. _Melanie begged, trying not to cry; tears would only obstruct her vision further. She was now moving so slowly, a turtle could have outpaced her. She took more deep breaths, bracing herself for the inevitable.

They moved much more quickly when an artillery shell exploded in their vicinity. They pushed themselves up and ran for it, not wanting to stay in the line of fire. The couple extra seconds it took for them to move nearly cost them their lives.

The fighting was gradually dying down, and from her admittedly limited perspective, it appeared as if the humans were losing. "Down!" Katherine whispered, practically shoving them into a pile of leaves. Melanie soon saw why as a lizard vehicle drove up, less than twenty meters than where they hid. She hardly dared to breathe. If they were spotted, they were dead, plain and simple.

Their turret went back an both, containing four rockets that would ensure that what remained of them could be buried in a thimble. Half a dozen lizards surrounded it as well, easy targets if they were inclined to shoot, which none of them were. Melanie knew that would be suicide, even if they could take a couple of them with them.

_Maybe we should fire, even if it costs us our lives. _Melanie thought. She saw her brother making the same conclusion, while Katherine readied another grenade. Behind them, around fifty yards, existed another group of males for fire support. They had learned better than to let small groups wander off on their own without support.

Melanie resolved not to go down without a fight, but hoped she wouldn't be forced to do so. She hid her face, shoving it against the ground, although her eyes still looked at the vehicle that the lizards had parked. _Come on, leave already! _Melanie glared at them through her concealment. Each moment dragged on and on and on, heightening the risk that they would be spotted and killed.

"Would we even be allowed to surrender?" Melanie mouthed silently. She considered the possibility, but if even they did, the three of them popping up suddenly was likely to meet with a lethal response.

Gradually, they moved away, but even so, none of them dared to move. It was quite possible that they would turn around and if they were caught out in the open, nothing would have saved them. They were still within range of her M-16, but slowly, they were moving out of sight.

It was a good twenty minutes before the trio got out of their hiding places, and even then, they stayed next to a tree in order to reduce visibility. Thomas and Katherine were both visibly shuddering. "I didn't think we were going to get out of that." Katherine admitted. "I just closed my eyes and prayed."

"I thought about firing on them, but ultimately, I just couldn't do it." Thomas bowed his head, ashamed of his perceived weakness. "If I was by myself, maybe I... but I couldn't risk your life as well, sis. I'd never be able to live with that if I ended up getting you killed."

"Maybe our instructor had a point after all." Melanie admitted. Under normal circumstances, she would never have been paired with her brother, but since they were in a difficult fight with the lizards advancing on every front, they didn't have the time to worry about regulations, even if their disapproval was obvious. Now Melanie was beginning to realize that those rules were there for a reason. She might have fired at them had she been alone or with fellow soldiers that she didn't know. Yes, Melanie knew she would have likely died, but at that range, she could have taken 3-4 lizards with her, something that would have assisted in the war effort. The Americans could replace their losses more easily than they could.

"We're just going to have to make the best of it." Thomas declared. "We're still alive, unwounded, so that's something. I'm going to see if we can find any of the others; what do you think?"

"We all got separated, but there's strength in numbers." Melanie agreed. "Be damn careful, though. Some of the lizards may be out here."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Katherine agreed, beginning to mentally recover from their ordeal.

"Hard as it is to believe, that whole fight only took five minutes." Thomas stated, pointing to his watch.

"Five minutes?!" Melanie gasped. "It had to have been longer than that!"

"Nope, not according to my watch and not counting us waiting to see if the lizards would butcher us." Thomas shook his head. Impossible as it seemed, her brother usually knew what he was talking about.

They wandered the area, jumping at the slightest sound of an animal or simply their own feet stepping on the leaves. Melanie saw a few lizard bodies along with members of their own group. _Good to know it wasn't completely one-sided. _A couple dozen yards away was one of their vehicles, currently burning. Melanie got a whiff of burning flesh and nearly emptied the contents of her stomach.

"I hope I've got a change of clothes." Katherine and Thomas said at the same time.

"Why?" Melanie asked, knowing that what they were wearing was the only pair they had. Their packs had been lost at the beginning of the battle. They exchanged embarrassed glances, neither one willing to speak out.

"Well, I shit myself; expect she did too." Thomas sighed.

"That's what you're so embarrassed about?" Melanie rolled her eyes. "We've got far bigger problems at the moment. If it's so terrible, clean yourselves up and let's move on. We can't exactly linger around, you know." A slight moan interrupted their bickering. All of them took out their weapons and looked around nervously. Had they been veterans, they would have flattened themselves on the ground.

When they heard the moan again, they realized that it was human. Near one of the bushes, Melanie spotted a man who was formerly operating a machine gun. The instant she spotted him, she knew he wasn't going to make it. In a hospital, they could save him, but out here with no medical services... he had been shot at least three times, one in the leg, twice in the chest. Melanie saw he was bleeding out and going into shock, but was unable to do anything but stare in horror.

"My god... that could have easily been us." Katherine spoke their thoughts out loud. The instant she thought it, though, Melanie felt incredibly selfish. They were staring at a dying man and the first thing that came to her mind was how glad she was that it wasn't her?!

His mouth began moving, but none of them could make out what he was saying. Finally, Thomas leaned next to him and translated for the others: "He want us to shoot him." His mouth continued to move, his voice barely audible, but Melanie could just make out... "Kill me... please."

_God, please don't let this be real! _Melanie pleaded. Wishes did as much good as they always did. Killing someone trying to do the same to her was difficult enough. Shooting someone in cold blood, someone who was a laughing, talking member of their group not two hours ago... she cried a single tear at the thought.

On the other hand, the alternative was to simply let him die there. There was no saving, not now, and he could be there for hours, possibly days, before it was finally over. Ultimately, Katherine was the one who fired the fatal shot, sending the bullet directly into his head. His gasps and moans mercifully stopped, but there was now a strong melancholy among them now.

Thomas got to his knees and started fishing through the now dead soldier's backpack, grabbing rations and bullets and handing them out. Once that was completed, he picked up the light machine gun, although not without some difficulty with the soldier's pack on him as well. "Can one of you get some of the ammunition?" He requested. "My hands are a bit full here."

"Do we really need that thing?" Melanie asked.

"Might make some of the lizards think twice," Katherine reminded, wrapping the ammunition belts around her neck. "Whoever's left is probably scattered everywhere. The question is: do we hunt them down or try fighting by ourselves?"

"There's strength in numbers," Thomas agreed. "It'll be difficult, but we need to join up, if not with our old group, with others who are still fighting. What else can we do?"

"That's going to be tricky; we could end up dead by mistake." Melanie reminded. On the other hand, all of them knew the risks involved. If they could get to someone, find a place to seek shelter... the food they had with them was only enough for about a week, and none of them had much clue about how to survive in the wild. Their water would last only slightly later, though that was less of a problem since they had a purification system.

"We could try going to the nearest town, stock up before we reunite with the army." Thomas suggested.

"Every town around Cleveland is occupied by those lizards; you have any ideas about how to sneak in without anybody noticing us?" Katherine reminded her.

"Yeah, you got me there." Thomas admitted. "There's a town a few miles southeast, but..." He dropped the machine gun and took out a map, trying to figure out their exact location. "Middlefield's about five miles southeast of us. But you're right; the lizards likely already hold that place."

"So what exactly do we know about surviving in the wild?" Melanie asked. The answer for her was nothing. Katherine knew a little from some old wilderness survival classes, but that still left them in an unenviable position.

"I can make a few simple snares." Katherine offered. "That should help us with the food situation."

"What about shelter?" Thomas wondered. All of them were realizing that going to the towns was likely a bad idea. Cleveland, by all accounts, was completely surrounded and none of them wanted to find out what the lizards would do to them if they were caught.

It took them most of the day, but eventually, they managed to build a crude teepee big enough for all of them to sleep inside. Thomas pulled out a plastic sheet and stuck it on four sticks, putting a pot in the center of it to catch water from the morning dew. All three heard a couple incidents of gunfire, but none of them wanted to find out whether those were their own people or the aliens.

"You know, they're not nearly as advanced as you'd think." Thomas chuckled as the latest round of fighting died down. It was now pitch black, but he and Melanie were wide awake despite their exhausted. Katherine had somehow managed to fall asleep. "I keep expecting them to have a bunch of laser guns and flying saucers, but their weapons don't look too different than ours."

"I'm more worried about other things, like how the hell we're going to get out of here alive." Melanie sighed, trying to get to sleep, but failing. She shivered, even inside the shelter. It was better than nothing, but it didn't do much. They'd have to work on improving it tomorrow.

XXXXXXXXXX

October 26, 1982:

"So does this mean I'm cleared to go back into action, superior sir?" Wuppah asked, knowing that the situation was much less optimistic than the broadcasts were reporting and wanted to assist the Race in any way he could. It took them a year-tenth before he healed enough for them to let him out of the hospital and more time to figure out what to do with him. Had he been forced to use Big Ugly medicine, the gas in his eyes would have blinded him. His unit had been disbanded and ordered to report to new squadrons that had lost members.

"Yes, just as soon as one final medical check is reported." The local killercraft commander informed him. "As of yet, we do not know what long term effects the gas will have."

"Do you know how long it will be, superior sir?" Wuppah asked, trying to hold in his temper. He was finding it far more difficult to control himself ever since he had tried that herb the cook at his old case had given him. He still had a few vials of it, trying to make it last as long as he could being that as of yet, he had no way to get more. Wuppah didn't even know what it was called, but it helped him get through the long recovery.

"One day and two tenths of a day before you are fully cleared." The commander informed him. "However, I believe you will be; this is merely a precaution. Dismissed, pilot Wuppah." Wuppah bent into the posture of respect once more and headed off to the medical bay once again, hoping this would soon be over.

The procedure, while unpleasant, was not nearly as bad as Wuppah expected. In the end, the doctor declared that he was in good health and combat-ready, something that greatly relieved him.

_But will I have a killercraft of my own? _Wuppah wondered. There were 3 pilots for one killercraft, to allow them to establish air superiority at all times while giving the pilots much needed rest from their missions. The ratio was likely higher now that close to 1,800 of them, nearly a tenth of their total arsenal, had been shot down and destroyed by the Big Uglies. Their losses were a lot worse, but as time went on, they would be able to manufacture more. Therefore, it was necessary to conquer them before they could bring their industrial advantage to bear. Their hovering killercraft had suffered even greater losses in terms of percentage.

Still, now that he had been cleared, he would be able to find out soon enough. "Strange to see new faces..." He muttered. He was used to spending time with and fighting alongside his squadmates and now he would be the stranger to whatever squadron he had been assigned to.

Once the sun set on Tosev 3, he had been ordered to his new killercraft. His superiors had assigned him to night flying instead of day as he was before. "I greet you, superior sir." He told his commander, whose name he had seen realized was Chook.

"I greet you, killercraft pilot." Chook made the affirmative hand gesture. "And there are your fellow pilots, Rongo, Ristin, and Dresn."

"I greet you, pilot." All of them said at the same time before climbing into their killercraft. Wuppah checked around, making sure everything was exactly the same as it was in his previous one. There was no reason for him to think otherwise, but he did so anyway. It had been close to two year-tenths since he had last flown a combat mission and he wanted to be ready.

The killercraft took off, rapidly gaining altitude. Wuppah hoped that the Big Uglies had not succeeded in sneaking SAMs near their base; there had already been a few cases of it happening, with tragic results, but this time, taking off went completely smoothly.

"So what is our target, superior sir?" Wuppah asked. So far in the war, he first served in the USSR, then Europe, India, and China. The latter two was pretty easy duty. While they had killercraft, they were few and primitive, no match for what the Race would yield. Less than 10 percent of their killercraft losses had been from that region, compared to 36 percent for the United States and 29 percent in the USSR.

"Our satellites have detected another missile silo that intelligence believes contains explosive-metal bombs." Chook informed him. "After the disaster in France, we cannot let such a thing happen again." All of them shuddered when they thought of all the males lost in the attack.

The Big Uglies had not left the place undefended. While no killercraft were in the area, they had dozen of surface-to-air launched placed all around the silos. "Any killercraft headed our way?" Rongo inquired.

"Nope, not on my radar." Wuppah replied, for which he was grateful. The launchers were enough trouble in and of themselves. The 120 killercraft sent on the mission were fully armed, even though precision-guided weapons were being conserved to a greater and greater degree. He himself had three missiles designed to destroy underground targets.

Even at the range of 30 Tlocks, some of the launchers were already firing missiles in their direction, then moved to make it more difficult for them to be hunted down. One killercraft was shot down within moments, the pilot having no chance to bail out before it was destroyed. Wuppah only hoped his death was quick. _He rests with the emperors now, _He thought.

Several of the launchers were destroyed, but their mobility made it difficult to do so. Wuppah used two air-to-ground missiles to wipe one of them out of existence after it came all too close to shooting him down. He had been forced to eject once and knew how lucky he was that he had survived; he didn't want to be forced to go through it a second time.

Their bombers were more vulnerable targets and as they neared their target, more launchers opened up, taking one of them out. Wuppah cursed, as they were carrying most of the underground bombs; what the Big Uglies referred to as bunker busters, although their versions were less effective.

"Where are their killercraft?" Ristin wondered. "You'd think with such an important target, they'd have heavier defenses."

"I don't know, but I'm glad we haven't seen any." Dresn replied, checking his radar every couple of seconds. If they did send any killercraft, the Race pilots would have more than adequate time to redeploy and kill them.

"Strange; the Big Uglies are usually not this addled." Chook agreed. "They are savages, yes, but not fools." The bomber wave dropped their underground bombs on the silos, hopefully wiping out the rapidly depleting stocks of explosive-metal weapons that the Tosevites possessed. Just a few of them had done dreadful damage to the Race. If they didn't wipe them out, the conquest was likely to fail.

Wuppah dropped the three bombs he possessed, wanting to make very sure that the targets were destroyed. Their underground bombs could destroy targets at depths of five meters of concrete and thirty meters of terrestrial material. "Let's see them try and use this location now!" He cheered.

As a matter of fact, few of his missions had been so simple an easy. True, they had lost nine killercraft, and the surviving pilots would have to be rescued, but with such a vital site, Wuppah expected the losses to be much higher. _Bit by bit, we're defeating the Big Uglies. _Wuppah's mouth hung open in laughter. He hadn't felt such jubilation since his last taste of... whatever the herb was called.

The pilots landed, one by one, still wary of any sneak attack the USSR might try. If they wanted to cause damage, attacking when their killercraft were landing was the perfect time to do so, but no, there was nothing on the radar that indicated an enemy.

"They'll never be able to use those silos again!" Ristin cheered. All their spirits were high at the successful mission.

"No enemy killercraft, their missile launchers destroyed, and their explosive-metal bombs wiped out!" Dresn exclaimed. "That is why we are the superior species!" That was of course ignoring the eight killercraft that were lost. Even if it was lower than some sorties, it was still equipment and ordnance they couldn't replace. If Wuppah didn't know better, he'd swear that Dresn was using the same herb as he was.

They spent the rest of the night on patrol, bombing a few Big Ugly groups from the air, but aside from that, it was a routine flight. Wuppah gave the USSR reluctant credit; despite their weakened position, they were still fighting hard and inflicting casualties on them.

By the time he returned, Wuppah was so tired that he was close to falling unconscious the minute his feet hit the ground. Ristin had indeed fallen asleep for a few moments standing up before Chook grabbed his shoulder in order to wake him. He headed to his new bunk and sat down, his eyes drooping rapidly.

"A great raid, a great raid." Dresn hissed. He was the only one of their squadron wide awake, something that struck Wuppah as most unusual. As the others were asleep, Dresn leaned towards him and whispered: "There's something I have that'll make this miserable iceball a lot more pleasant if you're interested."

"What are you referring to?" Wuppah asked, but believed that he knew the answer.

"The natives have something called ginger; best experience you'll ever have in your life." Dresn insisted, showing him a small vial. "Want a taste?"

"No, thank you; I already have some." Wuppah responded before wondering whether that was truly a wise idea. He had only just met Dresn and had no way of knowing whether or not he was trustworthy. "But I thank you."

"Okay; whenever you run out, I'm the male to see." Dresn promised. "Since you're a member of my squad, I'll sell it to you at half price. Ginger's exactly what you need; don't forget."

"I shall do so," Wuppah informed him, though privately he was far less sure. He had no idea that this "ginger" was spreading among Race troops to the point where some were making money selling it to others. He briefly considered reporting him to his superiors, but... Dresn would deny it and Wuppah wasn't sure if the herb was illegal. At least, he had seen no announcements to that effect.

Even though his exhaustion was immense, it took a long time before his conscience allowed him to fall asleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

October 27, 1982:

_31 minutes, 24 seconds. _David thought about how much time they had before the lizard's satellites passed over their territory again. Almost all of theirs had been destroyed, except for a few in Low Earth Orbit that the enemy believed were out of power.

Everything that they could do to camouflage their equipment from the lizards, they had done. They had launched raids, but lighting fires a good distance away from where their equipment actually was had been effective in keeping their forces intact. Tactical nuclear weapons, primarily nuclear artillery, had finally been authorized for use against the lizards.

"Major... I could get used to that." David admitted. He wasn't expecting to be a major in the 24th Infantry Division for some years, but the invasion had caused many to rise quickly through the ranks, including individuals who, in his opinion, were not yet ready for such a level of responsibility. However, they were in no position for peacetime luxuries.

Hopefully, what they had done to prepare themselves would be sufficient for their counterattack. The New England States, New York, and eastern Pennsylvania were still free of lizard invaders, giving them more opportunity to train their new recruits. It was the largest army the United States had mobilized since World War II and they were ready to drive into the heartland of lizard-held territory.

David briefly noticed their new commander Norman Schwarzkopf walking by. The General was well suited for training the new recruits and was well-known for his efforts to improve the quality of the U.S. military in the years prior to the lizard invasion. The post-Vietnam military had been hollow, both in numbers and quality, and it was only beginning to improve when circumstances changed.

He wondered how his wife Holly was holding up. David was luckier than some of the men under his command in which he knew she was safe, whereas certain soldiers had already gotten the news that someone they loved had been killed in the fighting, particularly individuals that were from Ohio.

_17 minutes, 3 seconds. _They would have to make sure the lizards believed that nothing was amiss. The counterattack was a major gamble and if it failed, the United States would not have sufficient forces to try again for several months. David showed none of his doubts in public, however. He had an image of toughness, bravery and confidence, exactly what they needed if they were going to succeed.

The lizard's satellites eventually came and went. David could only just make them out through his high-powered binoculars. They had a massive amount of men and material, and it was hoped that if a couple brigades were discovered and attacked, it would not compromise the plan as a whole. Each of the officers were under orders to stay at their post unless directly attacked and not to assist any other division under fire. Not all of them were happy with the decision, not by a long shot, but David knew it made a certain amount of cold-blooded sense. The key to victory would be for the Race to think that the United States was on the verge of collapse and unable to muster such a large force.

Not all of their troops were American, however. There were close to 125,000 Canadian and Australian soldiers that were brought to bolster their counterattack and an equal number of British soldiers, as many as Thatcher believed that the United Kingdom could spare. The "Special Relationship" between the two nations was proving a valuable asset.

_Amazing they haven't attacked some of our brigades already. _David thought to himself, while writing a brief letter to his wife wanting her and their children to know he was still alive and unscathed. It was only four lines, but the content was less important than the letter itself.

Two hours later, they received a communication from Dmitriy Feodorovich Ustinov, the Soviet Minister of Defense, and one from the People's Republic of China. Britain was already fully prepared, while they were still waiting for signals from Japan, India, Germany, and France. After being hit with nuclear weapons, France had been crippled, but was not yet out of the fight. It was hoped that with every major power still in the fight launching an attack at once, the lizards would be unable to redeploy their forces, being hit in all directions.

Within 24 hours, Operation Meteor would begin.


	10. Chapter 10

Okay, sorry about having the chapters bunched together in the first version. I've managed to fix it now.

November 2, 1982:

"Boy, am I glad I've gotten out of the sewers." Alexis thought as he prepared to go into action again. He had spent close to three weeks inside before he was rescued. Alexis had been beginning to believe that he would be stuck there forever, doomed to die of either starvation or radiation poisoning.

One of the effects of the nuclear strikes on Paris and other strongholds was to mobilize the entire country to resist the lizards. It was hoped in previous months that some kind of peace could be made- Alexis knew for a fact that even during the invasion, many hoped that negotiations with the lizards would be possible. After the nuclear strikes, all of it had been called off.

He had seen some of the aerial photos of Paris and was surprised at what he saw. While it had suffered a great deal, there was not wholescale devastation the way Alexis originally thought there would be. Even some recent buildings only a few hundred yards away from ground zero were still standing and survivors were located, even if few in number. When he asked about that, one of them informed: "Our buildings are a lot stronger and more resilient than the ones at Hiroshima and Nagasaki; wood does next to thing to protect you against nukes."

Nevertheless, confirmed deaths in Paris were around 350,000 and another 130,000 had died from the four tactical bombs used on their troops, crippling their defensive capabilities. Alexis was near the border with Belgium, where they were preparing for their role in the worldwide counter-offensive. Despite the heavy fighting he had seen, Alexis refused to give up, refused to slow down, until France was free of invaders.

With 2/3rds of the country occupied by the lizards, though, finding enough men (and a few women) to fight was proving to be problematic. Britain was sending as many troops as they could spare, just as they had sent them across the Atlantic to fight alongside the Americans. Germany was sending a few divisions as well, but since much of their country was also occupied, the amount of help they could send was limited.

_Never imagined we'd have to depend on the Germans to defend us. _Alexis shook his head. The presence of German troops inside France made him slightly nervous, and from the looks of his countrymen, he wasn't the only one. The older townspeople had a personal memory of German forces marching across the border, destroying everything in their path.

Even so, not all the news was bad. Alexis had been promoted to adjacent-chef, meaning that he was officially an officer. True, adjacent-chefs barely deserved the name, but he wasn't about to quarrel about it. He even had eight men under his command. It was a strange feeling for him, but not altogether unpleasant.

The best news of all, however, was a letter from his parents and siblings. Alexis had nearly cried when it was delivered to him. There were only a few lines, as they were living in lizard-occupied territory, but they were alive. That was all Alexis needed to hear from them. _Maybe I'll be able to reunite with them after all. _Alexis thought, taking out the last photo taken of them the day before he went off to basic training.

"Maybe you should hide that thing," One of the English lieutenants pointed to his photo, a small grin on his face. He spoke French fluently with only a slight accent, making Alexis think that he had spent a considerable amount of time in his country.

"And why should I do that?" Alexis snapped at him, his good mood ruined. "It is the first time I have heard from my family in months!"

"Haven't you ever seen a war movie?" The lieutenant pointed out, not in the least put out. "Everyone who shows people a picture of their family gets killed." His voice then turned serious. "All kidding aside, though, I'm glad they're still around." He looked about to say something else, but refrained. "It must be a great weight off your shoulders."

"Yes, it is, thank you." Alexis responded. His greatest nightmares had not been of the possibility of being wounded or dead, but learning that something had happened to his loved ones. The most vicious one was when he was restrained by the lizards, with his father, mother, and two sisters being shot and collapsing into a trench. At one time, he had distant Jewish relatives, none of whom had survived the death camps.

The new recruits had been hastily gathered together and to Alexis' eye, easy prey for any lizard aircraft who spotted them. _Was I really this clueless when I started? _Alexis wondered; he doubted he could ever have been so confident in his invincibility as they seemed to be. His eyes looked up at the sky every few moments, ready to throw himself to the ground, reflexes honed by battle.

He eventually walked to his new squad, who immediately saluted at his presence. Alexis looked them over with a critical eye, not speaking a word to them, but all of them were nervous when he stared at them. _They're not up to an operation of this scale. _Alexis mentally concluded, but made sure to keep his body language impassive. If they thought he didn't believe in them, their survival chances were almost nil.

"Sir... when is the counterattack going to begin?" One of them, slightly bolder than the others, asked Alexis.

"Whenever we receive the signal," Alexis informed, which was not likely to be for a few days. Ever since the brief nuclear exchange, fighting in France had quieted into an uneasy stalemate. The lizards had lost many of their forces, but France was not in any position to take advantage of their weakened situation. Skirmishes and raids were common on both sides, but neither had made a serious attempt to advance. If Alexis had to take a guess as to why, the lizards were stretched thin trying to conquer the Northern Hemisphere.

_And so are we, _Alexis thought. With so much of the country being held, there were only a certain number of people they could mobilize. They were in contact with guerillas behind the line to make life difficult for them, but they were still in the process of training the new fish.

"Sir, permission to ask a question?" One of his soldiers stared at him, looking slightly nervous.

"Granted; what is it?" Alexis asked, more shortly than he intended.

"How... how do we stay alive out there?" He wondered. The man was older than Alexis was, but he had superior rank and experience, so he deferred to him. "I'm willing to fight; just not willing to die anytime soon."

Alexis knew better than to think that advice was guaranteed to keep him alive. Sometimes, it was nothing more than luck that had kept him alive through all this. "One important thing to keep in mind is that you are not invincible." Alexis declared, deciding to start with the basics. "If you act like nothing out there can touch you, you're liable to end up dead before you realize you've made a mistake."

"All due respect, sir, that advice seems pretty obvious." Fernand protested. "Do you have anything else for us?" Alexis reminded himself that they were inexperienced and frightened to keep from snapping at them.

"It may sound basic, but it cannot be repeated enough." Alexis emphasized. "I've seen plenty of good men, smart men, end up dead because they didn't seriously believe anything could happen to them. Find cover, spread out, take the high ground if you can, and know your limitations, both of your skill and your weapon. Do that at all times and you'll get home alive." He hated lying to them, but Alexis could see that a couple of them looked to be on the verge of panic. "Oh, and one last thing: maintain your weapon. If it malfunctions, it's useless, no matter how much ammunition you have for it."

Alexis heard the air raid siren blaring and immediately dived to the ground. His squad was somewhat slower, and he grabbed the arm of one who wasn't fast enough and pulled him to the ground, the man dropping with a groan of pain. He took shelter behind a concrete wall, making himself as small a target as he can. He prepared his weapon, even though it was just aircraft... at least as far as they knew. The lizards' front lines were seventy kilometers away, but it wouldn't be the first time they had sent paratroopers.

_You'll be fine; you've got through this many times now. _Alexis told himself. Fear no longer overwhelmed him, but it was a strong presence nonetheless. The bombs were deafening, and even with his ear protectors, they were starting to ring. He could see the dust drifting down his helmet as he curled himself into a ball, using his pack to protect his face.

Much to his dismay, he saw all but one of his squad members still bunched closely together instead of spreading out. "Spread out, you stupid sons of bitches!' Alexis screamed, but he couldn't even hear his own voice. "Are you trying to get yourselves killed?"

He could vaguely hear the surface-to-air missile batteries launching their deadly payload. Alexis prayed that at least some of them hit their targets. He crawled away from the others, taking out his bayonet to increase the size of a small hole that he found on the grass. Fortunately, he had been through them often enough to where he was at least able to think rationally.

Just as soon as the air raid began, it was over. Alexis got up, but cautiously, ready to dive down again at a moment's notice. "Now to see if any of them are still alive..." Alexis muttered to himself. He mentally promised to do his best to make sure they got home safely, despite their best efforts to thwart him.

All of them were and uninjured, so far as he could tell. Alexis sniffed and noticed that at least a couple of them had crapped themselves. He'd pretend he noticed nothing, though; it had happened to him a few times as well. "Is everyone all right?"

"What?" Gabriel asked. "I can't hear you; why are you whispering?!" A quick examination informed him that he had forgotten to put on his ear protectors when the raid began. He had to remember that what was obvious to him was anything but for these new recruits.

"Use your goddamn ear protectors!" Alexis screamed two feet away from him. "Your ears should stop ringing in a few minutes, but in the future, always use them if you're in combat, or a raid! Otherwise, you're going to end up permanently deaf! If you fire your weapon without them, your eardrum can end up rupturing, understand?"

"Yes, sir!" Gabriel saluted, shaking his head rapidly to stop the ringing, though it didn't help any.

"Does anyone have any other questions?" Alexis asked. "Now's the time; we're going to be fighting as soon as we receive the signal."

"How... do we ever stop being afraid?" Lambert wondered. He just had his eighteenth birthday, so he was the youngest of the squad. "How can we fight back if you're terrified that you're going to die?"

"You never stop being afraid; you just learn to fight on in spite of that fear." Alexis informed. "All of us are afraid, each and every time we enter combat. You just need to learn to make fear your companion, instead of your master, but that will only come with experience." There were some things, though, that could not be described, could not be truly understood, not until someone was in the middle of a firefight.

XXXXXXXXXX

November 5, 1982:

_It's gone better than I expected. _Andrei thought, looking at the world map. In truth, he was skeptical about how effective their counterattack was going to be, especially since the original plan was to wait until close to the new year, when the lizards would be truly incapacitated.

In the Soviet Union, even if they were not feeling the full effects of winter, it was enough to slow them down, being that they were from a much warmer planet. The Rasputitsa was also having an effect, being that their vehicles were ill-equipped to handle the terrain. "I would have thought they would prepare for it." Andrei muttered to himself. They had sent a probe that arrived in 1141 that gave them a complete report of Earth's geography, or "Tosev 3" as they liked to refer to them.

"I'm sorry, did you say something to me, comrade General?" Ludmila asked him, sounding unhappy. She wanted to be in the Soviet Union, training pilots to fight the alien invaders. Andrei personally thought she would be much more useful there than in Iceland, but if Brezhnev didn't, his opinion meant absolutely nothing.

"Nothing, just reading the reports of the Rasputitsa." Andrei responded. If they were having such difficulty in the fall, what would they be able to do in the spring? The realization gave him a slight smile. Contrary to what many Westerners believed, the Soviet Union was more than capable of defending themselves without winter to rescue them.

Unfortunately, they had lost a couple dozen more of their ICBMs and a couple hundred of their warheads, even if many of them had been moved to other locations. The commanders in charge of it were immediately executed, a drastic step that had not occurred in decades, but Brezhnev was furious over such a heavy loss. Fewer of their warheads were submarine-based than the United States, so the lizards' attempts to destroy them had hurt the USSR more.

He pushed himself to his feet, gripping the desk to make sure he didn't fall over. Andrei was well aware that with his broken body, it would be impossible to get up again. Even after all these years, he still sometimes resented what he had suffered in his youth. He grabbed his cane and once he was convinced he had a firm grip on it, let go of the desk and began to slowly walk out of his office. "We have a meeting to attend." Andrei ordered.

Throughout his physical struggles, Ludmila had simply stood there, uncertain of what to do. Her first instinct was to assist him, but she had been warned that he took a lot of pride in not needing any external help, even if it meant suffering more than was necessary. "Of course, Comrade General." She immediately agreed.

He moved slowly, just as he always did. Andrei knew that if he were a lesser man, he would be screaming or at least moaning in pain with every movement. In spite of that, however, he would much rather have been on the front lines fighting the lizards. Instead, he was trapped in endless meetings with former enemies, with arguments breaking out almost every single day.

Everyone had their own ideas, their own strategies on how best to beat the lizards. Although some were hoping for a united approach, it was clear to Andrei by this point in time that each of the major powers were going to use whatever tactics they thought best, regardless of what the others believed.

He entered the room, ordering the two members of the KGB with him to ensure that there were no bugs, human or alien. Even if they were technically allies, Andrei knew that the capitalist countries would love nothing more than to sabotage their plans. "Greetings, comrades." He spoke to his Indian and Chinese counterparts, Rajesh Madan and Qiang Li, through his interpreters and theirs. "Why have you requested a meeting?" Andrei knew full well why they were here, but the social niceties had to be observed.

"We'd like to know what has happened to the shipments you promised us." Madan scowled at Andrei. "We have only received a handful of your tanks, less than thirty percent of what you promised us." Much as Andrei wished to argue with him over that, he couldn't. The strategic situation in the Soviet Union changed and the Politburo decided that they could not afford to send as much equipment as they requested.

"Our investigations are continuing." Andrei promised, only half-lying. "I apologize for the delay. Unfortunately, the lizards succeeded in hunting down and destroying many of our convoys."

"The People's Republic of China wishes to speak about improving our efforts to coordinate our attacks." Qiang Li informed him, sounding somewhat less hostile. "Our industry is gearing up for a wartime economy, but much of our land is currently occupied by the lizards. What help can the Soviet Union offer?" The southern half of China was held by the lizards, even though guerillas were making life miserable for them. Some lizards had even been pulled from the Soviet and American fronts to deal with them, a welcome relief for both countries.

"We can offer trainers for your pilots, and whatever training aircraft you require." Ludmila stated. It would allow the Soviet Union to get rid of much of their obsolete aircraft, allowing them to hurt the lizards while not losing their precious commodity of pilots as well. "The Politburo would have to give the final authorization, however."

"For which we thank you," Li gave a slight glare, but refrained from doing anything openly. There were in no position to refuse what was offered, even if they were no match for the lizard's aircraft. "Our pilots are brave, but inexperienced, so instructors will be a great help to us all." It was evident, however, that the Sino-Soviet split was still alive and well. "I presume that you have made good use of the anti-tank rockets and mines you received." Andrei told his Chinese counterpart. As they shared a much larger border with China, it was much easier to supply them with weapons. There was some disagreement among the Politburo about whether or not to give them blueprints of their more advanced SAMs, but ultimately they answered in the affirmative.

"I wouldn't doubt it; have you heard the latest reports from our forces?" Madan now glared openly. "Lucknow and Gwalior have both fallen. Our men are brave, but have little equipment to fight back with. As the Soviet Union is apparently either unable or unwilling to provide us with it, we looked elsewhere. The United States has agreed to give us a fighting chance. So far, we have received 5 billion of their dollars worth of weaponry."

_Bozhemoi!_ Andrei cursed beneath his impassive mask. He hadn't thought that they would have so much to spare, not with such a massive counterstrike. However, he believed he knew the Americans' true goals, which were far more than assisting India: they wanted to remove them from the Soviet sphere of influence. While technically a non-aligned nation, India had close ties with the Soviet Union, despite their animosity towards China.

It took him only a few seconds to realize that he was being manipulated. Madan knew the strategic situation as well as he. India had plenty of pro-western factions, even if diplomatic relations were cold, if not outright hostile. Relations between the two powers were slowly improving, something the Soviet Union was not about to allow unchallenged. Andrei hated playing along with Madan's games, but they appeared to have little choice at the moment.

"Assistance will be forthcoming; the Soviet Union will not neglect its allies." Andrei promised. Whether he could follow through with it was another matter. It depended on whether or not they could spare anything for China and India, and that would depend on how successful their counter-offensive would be. Most territory west and south of Moscow was held by the race.

"I understand the difficulties you are facing." Li informed. "In return for your support, we will escalate our guerilla activities in the regions of our nation that the lizards currently occupy, and force them to withdraw soldiers from your land in order to try and defeat us."

"Are you capable of doing so?" Andrei questioned, giving him an intense stare. He was skeptical of China's ability to do so. They had a massive population, yes, but most of their equipment and nuclear weapons were destroyed.

"If we were not, the Race would have already conquered us." Qi gave a small smile. "Our intelligence indicates that they have already withdrawn a few divisions from the fighting in Europe to combat us. If our activities increase, we can provide you with some breathing room... provided you give us everything my government is requesting."

"My government is expressing the same request." Madan stated. He gave a further warning as well: "It does not matter to us who is willing to send us the weapons we need, so long as we receive them." Irritation aside, Andrei could sympathize with Madan's position, at least to a point. Out of the major powers still in the fight, India was the only one for whom the changing climate provided no relief.

"Please keep in mind that our men are fighting and dying to stop the lizards advances, just as yours are."Andrei pointed out, wishing more than ever that he was on the front lines. He was a field commander, not an armchair general. "Everything we can do to assist you, we are. If you want more, then perhaps you should offer it in return."

"We may have a way to do just that." Madan nodded, a satisfied smirk on his face. "We have recently discovered that the lizards are adversely affected by ginger. Nothing but a spice for us, of course, but to them, it is a drug, a powerful drug. My government has already received a few electronics systems traded to us in return for large amounts of ginger."

"The Soviet Union has noticed the same thing; what are you getting at?" Andrei asked. Ginger was easy to obtain, even under wartime conditions.

"We have found a way to weaponize it." Madan informed him. "If we use this against their infantry, it will addle them, give them a feeling of invincibility and prone to making tactical mistakes." This news he had not heard. There was some talk among the Politburo to try and turn it into a gas, but it was expected to take several months to a year before it would be reproduced on a wide scale.

"Have you successfully tested it?" Andrei demanded. For all he knew, this could be a ploy to exaggerate their success in order to get more help.

"It has not been tested under battlefield conditions, no." Madan admitted. "My government feels that it will be more effective if used on a large scale in a short span of time rather than give them an opportunity to adapt to it."

"The lizards have been extraordinarily slow to adapt to anything we've done." Andrei pointed out, his suspicions still strong. "They were expecting us to be sword-swinging savages, not have a level of military technology to rival their own. Some of their commanders still fight as if the original plans were in effect. Why do you think the lizards will adapt to it so quickly?"

"There is still wisdom in not giving them the chance, even if the risk is smaller than it would be against a human opponent." Li pointed out, leaving the room temporarily, most likely to inform his superiors about the potential of this new weapon.

"They are less adaptable than us, but they are not incapable." Madan warned. Andrei conceded the point. While some of their commanders walked into ambushes even the most foolish human would have seen, others were learning and improving their tactics. "We have a couple of prototypes ready, but they have not yet been tested. It is scheduled to take place in ten days."

"I will speak to my superiors and attempt to convince them to reinforce you." Andrei promised. It would not be easy, but there were enough in the Politburo who would see the wisdom of it. He knew that even absent their give-and-take diplomatic game, if India got desperate enough, they would likely use what remained of their nuclear arsenal to defend themselves. "The amount of support my superior decide to give you is dependent on allowing our scientists to assist in this new weapon of yours."

"Of course, General." Madan nodded. They spent the next hour arguing with each other and finalizing the details, although no decision would be made until their superiors were informed and made their call.

Once the meeting was concluded, he allowed himself to breathe a small sigh of relief. "I'm not sure I like them manipulating us." Ludmila grimaced. Andrei wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Neither do I, but we have bigger concerns at the moment." Andrei pointed out. Ludmila was somewhat more outspoken than many Soviets would be, especially growing up under Stalin's rule. Andrei was wise enough to realize that his subordinates had intelligent input and so tolerated questions... to a point. They all remembered their previous rivalries, but nobody could allow that to get in the way of the war effort. "Send the communication to the General Secretary and give him my recommendation."

"As you command, Comrade General." Ludmila nodded and walked off to do so. He made a mental note to see what he could do to get her back to training pilots for the Rodina. Her talents were being wasted in this bureaucratic mess. For that matter, so were his, but he was here to stay.

"We cannot allow India to fall under the influence of the capitalists." Andrei muttered, scribbling a note to that effect. He didn't dare go into details, even in the privacy of his office. He regretted even saying that much out loud. His security team had done their best to eliminate any bugs they could find, but missing one was entirely possible. The two in the German conference that were planted and so far, undiscovered, for example.

The most important thing of all, however, was that the worldwide counteroffensive was slowly liberating territory that the Race had taken, however costly it was proving to be. So far, the greatest success was in Siberia for the Soviet Union. _You had your chance, but just try stopping us now. _Andrei thought.

XXXXXXXXXX

November 8, 1982:

Betvoss had been assured repeatedly that the trip was safe, that the Big Uglies had no weapons that could hurt them, that they were being transported under heavy escort. The Race made few mistakes and overprepared as a matter of routine.

It didn't make him any less nervous flying in the starship. Their transport killercraft, at least what was left of them, were insufficient to transport large numbers of males, at least in the number the conquest was currently requiring. The starships were resistant to radiation, resistant to all the tosevite air-to-air missiles. It only reassured him to a certain extent. Five had been wrecked during the landing, and one went down with all hands.

There were over ten thousand males of the Race inside the ship and if it was shot down, that would represent a serious blow to the war effort. Many of his fellow males were confident that they would be safe, but some were even more nervous than Betvoss was.

_Could be worse... I'm still alive, unlike poor Skyrim. _Their battalion and another that had been worn down by war were being merged into one. His battalion's losses were around 22%, certainly not enough to justify a full merger. It made Betvoss wonder how much the one on the other side had suffered.

"Superior sir, where is the starship taking us to?" Betvoss wondered. As of yet, he had not been given that knowledge. It couldn't be worse than the Eastern Front of the United States, which was currently eating up males the way a Ynd would consume Jugyr, a small insect species on home; Tosev 3's equivalents were called ants, he believed.

"I've heard we've been transported to China." Premas informed. "I don't know for sure, however, but they should brief us when we arrive." The ship was capable of traveling very quickly, even if it took a lot more energy, since they were accelerating in an atmosphere and not a vacuum.

"We'll find out when we arrive; no point in speculating before then." Votal stated. He had a point, but Betvoss couldn't help it. He hated being unprepared, but on the other hand... what could be worse than the bitter fighting he had endured in the United States? They were the most technologically advanced army, even if the Soviet Union was larger and had more inhospitable weather.

The starship gradually turned down its engines, even though it was still traveling at close to two thousand miles an hour. In the atmosphere, the ship would gradually slow down without needing an equal amount of energy to decelerate. Betvoss waited impatiently to reach their destination, though he idly wondered why that was the case. Once they landed, it wouldn't be long before they were once again in danger.

Around a day-twentyth later, the starship slowly landed on one of the captured airports, which was extended in order to permit landing of such large vehicles. Fortunately, this starship had smaller rockets on the bottom, permitting a vertical takeoff as well... to a degree, at least. Only about 150 of their ships had this ability.

Betvoss grabbed his equipment, including his coat of Big Ugly manufacture, and prepared to meet his new commander. Absently, he thought that if the Big Uglies were going to strike, this would be a perfect opportunity to do so. They'd be able to kill tens of thousands of males that the Race would be unable to replace. He tried to keep as much confidence as he could in the starship's armor and their security.

The hatch gradually opened, the door close to thirty yards in length. Once they were able to leave, they did so in an orderly fashion, although Betvoss' eye turrets scanned the skies for Big Ugly killercraft.

"I keep thinking we're about to be bombed." Premas worried.

"Intelligence reports indicate that in this part of Tosev 3, the natives have no functioning killercraft." Votal spoke up. "We destroyed all of them during the initial landing."

"One less thing to worry about, then." Betvoss stated, although he wondered how accurate their intelligence really was. Even now, they had become known for underestimating Tosevite military capability. Some even thought that their EMPs would render them unable to fight back, which proved a highly erroneous assumption.

They assembled in single file and marched towards the buildings that the briefings would be held in. Even if Bevtoss had yet to see anything of the city he was supposed to be occupying, he could smell the smoke in the air, in addition to gunfire and artillery in the distance.

They noticed a few local Big Uglies working on maintaining the runway, along with the rest of the facility. To his eye turrets, every one of them was a likely spy. Why was the Race working with individuals who obviously could not be trusted? It was a question he intended to ask when the briefing was over.

The room was built to sit 1,000 Big Uglies; for males of the Race, perhaps twice as many could be seated here, now that there were chairs designed for their body. A battalion group-leader walked up to the podium, and waited for everyone to be seated. Betvoss surmised that this was most likely their new commander.

"Greetings, Males of the Race." He began. "I am battalion group-leader Treek."

"I greet you, superior sir." All of the males replied in unison.

"While we are going to be unable to give you all of the details of the war effort in this part of Tosev 3, information will be vital to your current survival." Treek began. "The area on the southern part of the main continental mass is called China by the natives and the People's Republic of China by its government. Our researchers are still pondering its meaning.

"China is the most populous of the not-empires on Tosev 3, containing over a billion Tosevites. Such a massive population is a contradiction, considering that they are much less industrialized than the other major powers of this planet, in addition to their still-rapid population growth." He went on for the next half-hour describing what they know of the nation's history, it's beliefs, culture, and government.

Next he went on to describe their military capabilities. "China has few modern landcruisers, troopcarriers, or killercraft, and the ones they did possess were destroyed within days of our landing. Presently, we control 52% of their land area. Their forces do not have the technology or training to meet us in direct combat, allowing us to rapidly advance through their not-empire.

"Unfortunately, the Tosevites have figured out their inability to meet us in direct combat, but instead of submitting, they have resorted to what their military manuals call asymmetric warfare. This has proven to be much more effective and indeed, has even halted our advance. Casualties, while much lower than in the major fighting areas, are still considerable. The larger effect is that the 1.6 million males we have in this region are unable to assist our comrades.

"Over the past two weeks, asymmetric warfare has intensified, and outside support to these groups has grown massively. We believe this as a ploy by the two superpowers to trap as many of our males here as they can, as they are currently launching a counteroffensive in an effort to break our momentum." Betvoss stopped listening to this part of his lecture; he had already served in one of the superpowers and knew the situation better than the commander.

Once Treek got back to China, though, he began to pay attention again. "One of their tactics that has complicated efforts to put down the rebellion is the group's willingness to use human shields in their attacks. As the Tosevites have strong emotional connections to their hatchlings, they are the ones most frequently used. Each death of their hatchlings brings more outrage, and more recruits, even though logical beings would have blamed their deaths on the groups fighting us, instead of the Race.

"For those of you who have been fighting the superpowers, as the Big Uglies refer to the USSR and the United States, you would be advised to show more restraint than on those fronts. Civilian casualties are to be avoided if at all possible, as we have discovered that their deaths become a rallying point for their fighters. Their families, in particular..." He had to borrow the word family from the Tosevites: "...will be driven more than anyone to seek revenge."

Of all the things Betvoss was expecting, this wasn't it. Once the briefing was over, he had just as many questions as he did before, and the information they were given contained little useful advice about how to beat them. "His advice is likely to get us all killed!" Premas complained. "Who cares if the other Big Uglies get caught in the fighting; we've got to keep ourselves alive!"

"He has served in the region longer than we have." Votal reminded. "Our new commander knows how things work here better than we do. This... asymmetric warfare, as he called it, appears to be different than what we were facing before."

"How is it different than the constant ambushes in the United States?" Betvoss honestly wondered. The Americans used those kinds of tricks on them all the time, except perhaps the Big Ugly shields. "And the... Chinese are said to have far more primitive weapons. By the emperor, I know it's still dangerous, but compared to what we've already seen..." He habitually lowered his eye turrets at the thought of their emperor.

"Truth; I did not think of it that way." Votal admitted. "Even so, our two battalions are being merged, indicating that they are still a formidable foe. They are also receiving outside support."

"Our first patrol will be tomorrow; I expect we'll know more by then.' Betvoss signed. He doubted they were truly going to understand the region until they were attacked. At the least, he intended on speaking with the males who had been serving in China since the beginning to get a better perspective than he had gotten from the brief. XXXXXXXXXX

November 13, 1982:

"By the emperor, how could they have kept such number of equipment in reserve?" Atvar complained, seeing where the Big Uglies had succeeded in pushing them out of territory they had conquered.

"Our researchers believe they have discovered our vulnerability to the cold weather on this planet and waited until the seasons changed to launch their counteroffensive, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel answered.

That much he had figured out for himself. How, though, were they able to conceal so much equipment from their satellites, Atvar did not know. An even more chilling possibility was the idea that the Big Uglies had built all these machines in areas where the Race had new control. Even the most optimistic estimates claimed that they still had significant manufacturing capability.

"They must either be meeting somewhere, or still have communication lines that we have not disrupted." Atvar hissed with displeasure. "The fact that all the major powers launched their counterattacks at almost the same time cannot be a coincidence. It has kept us from redeploying forces in order to crush their rebellion."

"The Indian Subcontinent and China have also risen in rebellion, forcing us to divert males in order to crush them." Kirel added.

"We must have them fighting the major... what the Big Uglies call the western powers." Atvar's claw swiped the air being circulated in his starship. "Our pilots and artillery are expending munitions at an unacceptable rate to destroy their factories and power facilities. Yet the alternative is to let them continue to produce; if they succeed in gearing up to a war-time economy, our conquest is doomed. No matter the cost, we must prevent that from happening." He gave an empathetic cough.

The Rasputitsa in the Soviet Union had all but stopped their advance, and indeed, thanks to the males they had to recall to India, the Soviets were pushing them away from their territory, not to mention the partisans in the large part of the not-empire that they did control. Not to mention that they had evidently decided to start using poison gas as well, a far more lethal variety than the one in India.

"France... their industry should be been destroyed!" He exclaimed. "After the explosive-metal bombs were detonated on what little territory they still hold, they should be unable to fight or resist."

"And yet they are; their bombs killed many of our males, and the survivors are only just now returning to duty." Kirel stated.

Atvar tried to look at relatively quiet fronts that he could pull males from to deal with the new situation. Much to his dismay, he could not. The Middle East and North Africa were the only areas where the conquest was going mostly as planned, though with Israel, the last of them to fall occupied, casualties were unacceptably high. Southeast Asia, with Vietnam, Laos, Thailand, and Cambodia was proving to be a major nuisance as well. No place on Home or their other two worlds did they have such thick vegetation, providing the enemy with ideal concealment.

"Exalted Fleetlord, perhaps we should make an example of one of the not-empires resisting us." Kirel suggested. "If we use explosive-metal bombs, it may convince them to give up the fight."

"France has not surrendered, despite the damage they have suffered." Atvar reminded.

"No, Exalted Fleetlord, but it had greatly weakened their position, and left them unable to launch a counteroffensive." Kirel informed. "But which not-empire will we use this on?"

That was an easy question for Atvar: the United States. They had a new landcruiser, one that was able to match the Race on even terms. They had encountered them before, but it was evident that the Americans possessed far more of them than intelligence first believed. He put up the hologram showing the two fronts on the northern part of the lesser continental mass. The west, where conditions were far more favorable to them, the Race was still advancing but they had been slowed.

Los Angeles and San Diego had been surrounded and left to rot, as they were unable to muster enough males to conquer them outright. Atvar mused that it was a tactic that perhaps they should employ more often. They were cut off from supplies, although negotiations were continuing about allowing food and water shipments to the civilian population.

"We'll have to use multiple strikes for each city; their missile defense is formidable." Atvar mused, going along with Kirel's suggestion. Now... what would be the best places to employ them, taking into account the weather patterns and keeping his own males safe from fallout?

Ultimately, he decided to use 12 explosive-metal bombs on five targets: Washington D.C, Toledo, Detroit, Newport News, and Charleston. Atvar hoped that this would convince the Americans to surrender.

"It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel replied in perfect submission.


	11. Chapter 11

November 14, 1982:

"Break formation, head to targets." The order was given, and Operation Retributive Strike began.

Rance Auerbach couldn't help but be slowly nervous. The compound was supposed to be impregnable to attack, even in a nuclear war, but they didn't take extraterrestrial invasion into account. Recent events had made things even more dangerous.

Newport News and Charleston had been almost completely destroyed. A fourth bomb detonated on the outskirts of Detroit, although thankfully not in the city itself. The fifth detonated in southern Philadelphia. They had major air defenses all around the major cities in case of nuclear attack, but there weren't enough to go around and protect every population center.

Rance turned his head and looked at Reagan, who was currently drumming his fingers against the desk with displeasure. The invasion had only lasted five months, but he appeared like he had just aged five years. Far as Auerbach was concerned, he was doing a remarkable job keeping it together, but he was still only human. Absently, he remembered how FDR had died under the strain of managing WWII and wondered if he would share the same fate; the fact Reagan was the oldest president ever elected didn't help matters, either.

_Nor did I ever think I'd be here. _Rance thought. He had retired as a Major General nearly ten years ago, but when it was confirmed that aliens were heading for earth, every commander who was capable was pulled out of retirement. Not that anyone objected; everyone knew what was at stake if they failed.

In some ways, though, this was less dangerous than World War II, as impossible as it sounded. The aliens behaved like old-style imperialists, not the Nazis or Imperial Japanese (he had far too much experience with the latter in his youth) With a few exceptions, they treated prisoners humanely and even allowed food transportation into areas under siege, Los Angeles and San Diego being the most prominent examples.

"ETA to first target: six minutes." One of the operators informed; the information was silently acknowledged.

"All for nothing, apparently." Auerbach whispered. Both the United States and the Soviet Union had done everything they could to keep nuclear weapons from being used. The taboo had been seriously weakened by France and now that America had been hit, the taboo was now totally destroyed. _Won't be long before Britain, the USSR, and the others use them too._

"Mr. President, we should be launching a more extensive attack." Casper Weinberger insisted. "Dragging the war out will cost millions of lives; we have the capability to hit their ships in Low Earth Orbit."

"No; I don't want to let the Race know that we have that capability." Reagan responded, politely but firmly. "They haven't found all our silos and I intend to keep it that way." Their silos had been proven to be quite vulnerable and the recent destruction of one of the last locations the Soviet Union had only increased concerns.

Everyone in the room was mostly silent. The Cheyenne Mountain bunker was hoped to be secure and considered the best place in the United States to command and guide the war effort. They had chosen a series of targets for their nuclear arsenal, ones that were considered the best way to cripple the Race.

Auerbach had heard the reports that they had originally intended to invade 40 years ago, all the way back in 1942. It would have meant fighting with much more feeble weapons and before they were fully geared for war. He knew that had he been fighting during that time, he'd likely end up dead. They had run the scenarios in which the Race invaded during that time, and nearly all of them ended in human defeat.

The first target was near Tucson, Arizona. Their fleet of F-16s had been spotted, from the indications on the radio, but at the moment, they didn't have enough stealth aircraft to do the mission. Those had been hastily pressed into service over a year before the planned introduction. The second reason was that a single missile being launched at their grounded ships would be seen as a nuclear strike; having two B61s among dozens increased the odds of success.

"The second squadron is currently in range of their target; final codes are being entered." Weinberger informed. "Do we deploy, Mr. President?"

Reagan tapped his fingers on the desk for several more seconds before finally saying: "Deploy." He gave a small sigh.

_They're not going to be very happy about that. _Auerbach thought. The second target was across the border into Mexico near Ciudad Juarez and while they were doing everything they can to minimize fallout and keep any civilians from being contaminated, they weren't 100 percent sure that it would work... but they had a chance to destroy five of their ships and weren't about to squander the opportunity.

"Missiles are on target... approaching." A radio report from a specially sealed vehicle declared on the ground. Being that their satellites were destroyed, they needed another way to determine whether or not their targets had been destroyed.

They were using the tactical version of the B61, instead of the strategic, over the objections of some of the commanders, who weren't sure if such a small bomb would be enough to destroy so many starships, especially since there was a good chance at least one of them would be intercepted. The Mexican Government, or what was left of it, had been informed, but the United States had not asked for permission. The ships were near Chihuahua, Mexico.

However, at the same time they learned the two bombs in Mexico had both detonated slightly under a mile above ground, they had received a report that the F-16 squadron they sent to Tucson had been destroyed. About a dozen missiles had been launched before that happened, but none of them were nuclear. _Hopefully, it'll at least deplete their antimissile stocks. _Auerbach thought, giving a brief salute to the courage of those pilots. Everyone knew that this was not far from a suicide mission, but nobody was going to allow the U.S. to be nuked with impunity.

"We need visual confirmation: has the target been destroyed?" A communications officer asked. It would have been much easier if they could get visual communication in the bunker, but nobody wanted the lizards to locate it. The officer waited patiently for the answer. Once it was given, he informed them: "Targets have been destroyed. I repeat, targets have been destroyed!"

There was a widespread cheer in the room and even Reagan looked to brighten up a little. That was a heavy blow that the lizards had been dealt, and even if their casualties were relatively low, those were still starships that could no longer be used to project their men from one side of the world to the other.

"Mr. President, we've got a lock on the third target." Auerbach spoke out. Unlike the previous two, they were able to use a pair of stealth aircraft. All but one of the targets were on the Western Front. The lizards were more suited to the weather, and the U.S. had most of their troops fighting in the east, even if guerillas were making their life difficult.

This group was headed towards Modesto, which had been turned into a fortress. Unlike the southern part of California, they had time to train the new recruits, although not as extensively as they would have done in peacetime conditions.

Once the president gave the order, ten Pershing II missiles were launched, three with nuclear weapons, than hastily moved to prevent any reprisals. As luck would have it, the seven decoys were destroyed, but the ones carrying actual missiles were not. _How the hell did that happen? _Auerbach asked in astonishment. He expected two of them to be intercepted, or at least one, but no, all of them got through.

The lizards were wising up, however, meaning that the targets they chose near Las Vegas, Chattanooga , and Dayton were all intercepted. A few missiles impacted the Race deployment in Chattanooga, but did minimal damage to their forces.

The question was: what would the aliens do now? Nobody knew with any certainty how many nuclear weapons they had, and none of their prisoners captured had that knowledge. It made a certain amount of sense. Most likely, the individuals who had that knowledge were in Low Earth orbit, beyond the reach of the United States.

If they kept going tit for tat like this, how much of the United States would be left?

XXXXXXXXXX

November 25, 1982:

"Those people are fucking crazy." Reuven remarked, but he was laughing as they observed the burning lizard tank. It had been hit from all sides with a dozen RPGs; all the men were killed in process, but they had succeed in wrecking it, killing the occupants, and halting the Race counterattack.

"We're all crazy; that's what living under Saddam does to you." Barzini grimaced. Currently, they were entering Mahabad, hoping to hold it at least temporarily before the lizards drove them out again. He was in charge of a dozen fighters and Reuven, who was a law onto himself.

For the first two days, they had clearly caught the enemy off-guard. They were accustomed to the Kurds, Iraqis, and Iranians hiding in the mountains and ambushing them, not going on the offensive.

"Stay off the main roads; we'll be a sitting duck if we use it." Reuven warned, hugging the nearest building and moving at a snails' pace. The lizards' front lines were about 100 yards away, with neither side being able to advance. "We should have surrounded the city; could have bagged a lot of lizards that way."

"We don't have the men or the equipment for that." Barzini reminded him. It wasn't just that, although it was a big part of it. Mahabad was an Iranian city, and nobody was sure what would happen if the Iranian, Kurdish, and Iraqi forces were left to their own devices. Infighting had already cost them too many valuable fighters, and efforts were being taken to avoid that. It had reduced the infighting, but did not end it.

"True, but let's make sure they don't surround us as well." Reuven warned. He moved forward a few more feet, then abruptly went to his belly as a stream of machine gun fire halted them in their tracks. Snipers were in the area as well, on both sides, even though most of the tall buildings had been wrecked to deny them access.

"I've figured that out on my own, Jew." Diyako snarled at him. Most of them were rather unhappy having Israeli agents among them, even though they had proven quite invaluable to the resistance, both in combat and intelligence.

Barzini had no idea what to make of him. Reuven was clearly unhappy about the remark, and his eyes briefly went to his weapon. Barzini moved between the two; the last thing they needed at the moment was more quarreling. Another burst of gunfire ended whatever might have happened at that moment.

Hearing the suppression fire informed Barzini that the lizards were trying another push to get them out of the city, even if they were moving more cautiously now that they had lost one of their tanks. Two armored personnel carriers moved, with their infantry providing cover to anti-tank rockets. Barzini hid in one of the alley, hoping very much that this would not be his last fight. They were not in a fortified position and would be thrown out in the lizards gained any momentum.

"Does anyone here have any anti-tank weapons?" Diyako asked. When everyone answered no, he let out a brief curse.

"We can still hurt them." Reuven promised, setting up a light machine gun. They were hiding under a pile of sandbags and rubble, which could give some protection against bullets, but none against the APCs cannon. He hid it well, but Barzini could see that he was just as afraid as everyone else.

They fired their weapons for a few seconds, then hastily retreated. Nobody wanted to be caught in the lizards barrage. Barzini grabbed the machine gun ammunition and fled at top speed, not daring to look back. He dived, tearing the skin of his leg even though his thick clothing.

He bit his lip to keep from screaming. Diyako helped him to his feet, while his son Adar went into a defensive crouch, throwing a grenade at the lizards. Artillery and helicopters began to pound their positions; Barzini couldn't help but wonder how many of them would get out of this battle alive.

_If Allah decrees that I die here, so be it. _Barzini thought. He'd come to terms with the possibility years ago, even since he joined the Peshmerga, but he'd like to delay it as long as possible.

The lizards were advancing cautiously, though. They had enough experience with humans to know that they could easily be walking into a trap. Artillery rained shells into the city, easily destroying any nearby buildings. Modern buildings were much more resistant to damage, but they were fighting in the older part of the city.

"Do we have anything to hit back with?" Barzini complained, growing weary of the constant barrage.

"I'm afraid not; believe me, I wish we did." Reuven replied. They didn't even have any mortars with them. The rubble provided them with some protection, but not much. "Still, at least we don't see any lizards coming our way. Care to take a look?" Reuven handed his binoculars to Adan.

"No, but I can't see a thing in this smoke." Adan pointed out. More shells cut off what he intended to say next.

"Wish we had more radios to know just what in the hell was going on..." Reuven muttered, but did not let his guard down for a moment. He aimed and fired his submachine gun at a platoon of lizards that were headed in their direction. "They're coming!" He shouted out a warning.

"Yes, I can see that." Diyako declared, opening fire with the machine gun. A couple of the lizards fell, but from this distance, none of them could tell whether it was from being hit or merely taking cover.

Everyone opened fire with everything they had, but at the same time, they were prepared to retreat. They were outnumbered and outgunned, but would do everything possible to hold them back. Barzini rolled left, exposing as little of himself as possible and threw a grenade in their direction. He had never been good at throwing, however, and it fell short of his target.

Two of them had already been hit, one of whom was dead. Diyako and Adan did what they could for the man's wounds, but with medical supplies so limited, it was unlikely that they would be able to save him. Barzini finally managed to hit a lizard, shooting it through the throat. The APCs cannon opened up just as he did, however, forcing him to jump over the rubble in order to avoid it.

He was fast enough to avoid a fatal wound, but shrapnel cut both his legs, another piece digging itself into his shoulder. Barzini laid open-mouthed, trying to force himself to move, but his body refused to obey him. Strangely, he didn't feel much pain, at least not yet.

Vaguely, he heard voices around him, but he couldn't tell where they were coming from or what they were. Barzini heard a loud scream. It took him a few seconds to realize that it was his own. He tried to say something, to give the order to retreat, but all he was able to do is scream. He could feel the blood pooling up around him, the bright sun forcing him to close his eyes.

Barzini felt his body being carried away and even if it meant he had a chance to live, he was unhappy about it; it meant that the Peshmerga were losing and the lizards were retaking the city once again. He personally didn't expect them to hold it for long, but if they could, it would have dealt a major blow to the Race. That was his last coherent thought before the pain overwhelmed him.

The next thing he knew, he was being set inside a tent and the pain began to disappear. After several hours of unconsciousness, Barzini's eye began to open and he saw Reuven standing right next to him. "Where... where are we?" He asked drowsily, tempted to sleep again, but knowing that the Peshmerga needed him kept him awake.

"We're in an aid tent; the lizards took us prisoner." Reuven explained. As Barzini came to, he noticed that Reuven had been injured as well, albeit much less severely. He had a bandage on his shoulder, but nothing more.

"Perfect... just perfect." Barzini sighed. It appeared that Allah had decided to allow him to live a while longer and as long as he could muster a single breath, he would not give up the fight. "Did anyone else make it?"

"Adan and two others; everyone else died." Reuven shook his head. Barzini absently wondered why the Jew even cared; it wasn't as if they were his own countrymen, but the dismay was impossible to mistake.

_Perhaps they're not as evil as I've always been taught. _He mused. Reuven was the first Jew he'd ever met, and certainly didn't act the way he had initially anticipated. Still, he had more important worries, like hoping that he'd actually survive his injuries; it was very touch and go at the moment.

XXXXXXXXXX

November 27, 1982:

_I am getting real tired of freezing my ass off, _Melanie thought as she stood, or rather, sat guard outside their crude shelter.

She heard artillery and gunfire in the distance, although she had no way of discriminating between American and Race weapons. Were they winning or losing? She had no way of knowing. Some of it was way too close for comfort, and indeed, a shell had impacted less than 200 yards away from their camp.

However, that also meant that they weren't going to be rescued in the near future. They were near a lake, allowing them to catch fish and a magnifying glass Thomas had brought with them allowed them to cook. They weren't completely unprepared, but none of them would be able to stay out here indefinitely.

"Just wish we had some cold-weather gear." Melanie shivered. Whatever they had was left behind and it wasn't like they could go searching. It felt below freezing, and based on the ice, it was. She wrapped her arms around herself and stayed at the edge of their shelter. They had found some branches and leaves, allowing them to improve its protection, but it still didn't keep everything out.

In fact, they'd had to rebuild it multiple times because a strong wind and accidentally bumping into it caused it to collapse on itself. It was a long trial-and-error process, but they had finally built something that would protect them from the elements. Melanie remembered from what little wilderness training she had as a child was to make sure they had food, water, and shelter. "We've got those for now." She muttered, still shivering.

She wished more than anything that they could build a fire to help them keep warm. Unfortunately, doing so would immediately draw attention for miles around, possibly hostile, so they were forced to suffer without one.

Deciding to head back to it, she took either not to wake up either Katherine or her brother. They were close, in order to share body heat. All three of them had done so on especially cold nights before their shelter was fully functional; there was some hesitation, but embarrassment seemed better than hypothermia.

Her nose wrinkled; they stunk, as did she, most likely. There was a lake nearby, but nobody wanted to risk hypothermia. Melanie briefly crawled out, took a few gulps of purified water, and crawled back in again. Being unable to sleep, her mind began to wander.

_How long are we going to be stuck out here? _Melanie thought. The answer was pretty depressing. If they couldn't call attention to themselves for fear the lizards would end up killing them, they could be stuck out here for a long time. Their rations were running low, and while they could fish, they had seen few squirrels or any other animals.

She couldn't recall falling asleep. She must have, however, since the moment her eyes began to open, she saw light coming into their shelter. And something else too... once her eyes opened wider, she saw someone's face mere inches from her own.

"Ahhhh!" She screamed, startled. Thomas and Katherine were currently laughing their heads off. "Yeah, ha ha, very funny." She growled at them.

"Sounds like someone doesn't want the food we found." Katherine smirked. There were cuts on her hands and face, some of which had dried blood on them. "We found a bird's nest and decided to help ourselves to some eggs."

"Or more precisely, she did." Thomas pointed to her. "I'm too big to climb a lot of those branches. We even got a full-grown bird out of it; should be ready in a few minutes."

"Where the hell did you get that thing?" Melanie asked when she got to her feet. The bird currently being cooked on the fire had to weigh close to ten pounds, even after it was plucked. Thomas immediately sat down a few feet next to it. She noticed that currently, he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. His clothes were laid out on the ground to dry.

"I shoot... shot one at the lake when we were going to get water." Katherine explained. "It was a couple hundred feet out, early in the morning, so of course, that idiot over there decided to swim for it." Thomas was breathing hard, staying as close to the fire as he dared.

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Thomas protested. "This should keep us fed for quite a while."

Melanie moved to the pot of water, but before she could take a sip, Katherine pulled her back. "Wait, we haven't boiled that yet. It's not a good idea to drink it."

"How much longer until I can boil it?" Melanie sighed. She was feeling rather thirsty and didn't much feel like waiting, even if she knew it was a good idea.

"It's going to take a couple hours." Thomas responded. "We want to make sure this goose is good and cooked; not like we have any medicine if any of us get sick."

"Shame we couldn't have used the campgrounds." Melanie sighed, trying to ignore her thirst. East Branch Reservoir had several that provided much more protection than their makeshift teepee. They'd been blown to bits in the intermittent fighting, though, so they were less than useless. Well, except to give them an idea of where they were.

After what seemed a lifetime, the goose was finally done and they were finally able to start purifying the water. _Least I'm not alone out here. _Melanie thought. Survival would be much more difficult if she was. Thomas had the theoretical knowledge of survival, while she and Katherine had the coordination to put it into practice. The phrase "misery loves company" had a part to play in that as well.

"We're doing pretty well for people with little training." Thomas stated, beginning to warm up. His clothes were nowhere near dry, though. "We've been out here for what, three weeks or so?"

"Something like that," Katherine agreed, using a sharp rock to cut meat off the duck. All of them ate as much as they could from it and the bird's eggs, being that they didn't know when they would get the next opportunity and not having the ability to preserve it.

"Real problem's hypothermia; wish like hell we could have used those campsites." Melanie sighed. They did not have enough cold-weather clothing and now they were paying the price for it.

"You know, we only traveled probably a couple miles to get away from that firefight." Thomas mused. "We could go out there and find some; it's not like its previous occupants are going to need it anymore."

"That's disgusting!" Katherine screamed at him. "You want to loot a bunch of dead, rotting bodies?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of packs that were left behind, but when it comes down to it, yes." Thomas agreed. Melanie took a drink rather than answer. Her brother had a good point. They were often hungry and thirsty, but had enough to survive. The cold, however, would end up killing them if they weren't damn careful, and if they were stuck out here during the winter, Melanie knew their survival was unlikely.

"Yeah, I think we'd better." Melanie concluded. That was assuming others didn't already do the same thing. They should have thought of it much sooner than they did; another sign of their inexperience in the wild. There had to be others out there, surviving in the same way they were. Melanie wanted to try and find them, but the lizards could very well find them first, and even if they did locate survivors, they could easily get shot by people mistaking them for the enemy. "When do you want to do this?"

"As soon as my clothes dry." Thomas responded. He knew he should feel awkward dressed in so little with his younger sister and her friend there, but they had far bigger concerns at the moment. Hypothermia was their biggest danger. Even in the daytime, Melanie sometimes shivered.

She and Katherine eventually decided not to wait for him and went off searching on their own. Both of them brought their weapons for defense, even if they weren't much use in a firefight. Besides, they could get lucky and kill a fox, or squirrel. "Do we really have to do this?" Katherine complained.

"Yes, I'm afraid we do." Melanie affirmed. It disgusted her just as much, but she liked the idea of freezing to death even less. She took out her compass to give herself at least some idea of where they were headed. When they were first forced to make a living in the wild, they had repeatedly gotten lost and unable to find their campsite.

They were walking next to, but not too close to, one of the hiking trails. However much she wished to use them, Melanie knew that it could also make them a prime target. More gunfire was heard in the distance, but it was so quiet that it was likely miles away. Her awareness heightened even so.

"Glad that's not us," Katherine sighed, rubbing her temple. "Hopefully, we'll be able to push them out and we can get rescued. Didn't they say these lizards hate cold weather?"

"Yeah, I think they did." Melanie agreed. She didn't know all the details, though; alien biology didn't interest her. "Hell, if they're so sensitive to cold, they might be stealing our clothing too to stay warm." It was beginning to look like they wouldn't find anything after all, but the effort still had to be made.

The smell of rotting corpses was the first thing that clued them into the fact that Melanie and Katherine had arrived at their destination. "Maybe we should have waited for him after all; make him do the hard work." Melanie laughed darkly. Her brother had no sense of smell, and when he cut up a dead body in his high school anatomy class, found it fascinating instead of disgusting.

Still... there was no sense complaining about it. The duo searched the woods, but despite the strong smell, they were not easy to find. Nor were all the bodies human. "Take a look at this," Katherine gestured her friend over. Melanie saw a lizard on the ground, its head blown to pieces. It was more intact than she would have expected, however. No flies, no maggots; perhaps they didn't like lizard flesh.

"A dead lizard; so what?" Melanie shrugged. She wanted to find survival materials, not decomposing aliens.

"He doesn't look so threatening from here." Katherine stated. The creature was barely four foot tall, about the size of an average 8-year-old. "It's almost like a kid."

"Can we get this over with?" Melanie sighed, looking up at the sky. They were sitting ducks for any aircraft or enemy patrol. Deciding to leave Katherine to it, she continued to search. About a minute later, she nearly tripped over a pack that was buried in the leaves.

Opening it up, she found a sheet that could be set onto their teepee, assisting in keeping them warm. "Maybe if we get lucky, we can even find a tent." Melanie muttered. A modern tent would be much more suitable than their rough design. The sheet would still be a great help, however.

"Hey, Melanie, come here!" Katherine exclaimed. "I found a pair of sleeping bags!" They were right next to a decaying body, and Melanie bit her lip to keep out a shriek. It was very different than anatomy class, with a body that had already been cleaned up. Much of its skin had already been eaten away, with maggots gulping down the remainder.

"Come on, let's get going." Melanie proclaimed, squicked. It wasn't just the sight of a decaying body, although that was a large part of it. It was also a reminder that it could have very easily been her, or Katherine, or Thomas.

"Have you found any food?" Katherine wondered. "Even rations are sounding to sound pretty good right now."

"No, I haven't." Melanie replied. It wasn't like all the supplies were located in a manner that was easy to find. Hell, they were lucky to find as much as they did.

A noise caused them both to freeze. A few seconds later, they immediately recognized them as footsteps. Melanie and Katherine immediately dived to the ground. True, they could be human, but on the other hand, perhaps they weren't. Even if they were human, it didn't mean it was safe to expose themselves. They could be thieves and bandits instead of soldiers.

Eventually, the group got close enough for them to tell that they were human. Most were wearing a mixture of civilian and military gear. Melanie moved a few inches closer, trying to decide whether or not to reveal themselves. With everyone on edge, they could easily be mistaken for lizards and only afterwards would they find out their mistake.

"So what are we going to do?" Katherine whispered.

"I have no idea; I was hoping you did." Melanie replied. She'd have to figure out how to get their attention without being shot. If she screamed, they'd likely end up killing them both. She thought about a sound that only a human could make.

"Hey, you!" Katherine screamed. Melanie felt like strangling her as the group suddenly stopped, spread out and readied their weapons. "We're friends!"

"If we get out of this, I'm going to kill you." Melanie muttered. But they did not immediately fire on their position.

"Show yourselves!" One of them screamed. "Stand up or we open fire!"

Melanie and Katherine slowly got to their feet, hoping this wouldn't be their last moments on earth. Guns were still pointed on them, but to their relief, nobody started shooting. "What are you doing out here?" One of them asked, not lowering his weapon, but no longer pointing it at them. He looked to be in his early to mid 30's, but looked to be the one in charge.

And so they both told their story, how they were recruited to fight the lizards, how their group was killed and the survivors scattered, and that they had been trying to survive out in the wilderness ever since, both trying to keep enough food to survive and avoiding any hostile encounters. They'd been out there for weeks, not knowing what in the hell was going on.

After they were done, the man simply nodded and said: "All right, you're not the first ones we've picked up. Are there any others in your party?"

"Yeah, my brother's out there a few miles that way." Melanie pointed out, once she believed they were no longer a threat to her. As crazy as it sounded, a large part of her was looking forward to hitting the lizards again. Having already been in a firefight, it didn't frighten her in the way it once had.

"Led the way," He gestured with his rifle. Melanie led them on, a small part of her still wondering if she was making a mistake.

"So what the hell has been going on?" Katherine asked. "We haven't heard a thing."

"There's some good news," He responded. "We've mostly pushed them out of Pennsylvania. Their garrison is Pittsburgh is surrounded and only a few parts of the countryside still belong to them. Elsewhere, the news isn't so great. Three of our cities have been hit with nuclear weapons."

"Which ones?" Melanie gulped.

"Charleston and Newport News were hit twice, Philadelphia once." He informed them. "Right now, we have no reliable death toll and doing everything we can to treat the survivors."

_Charleston... dear god, no! Please! _Melanie tried to keep herself from crying; it wasn't easy. Her parents currently lived there, and she hadn't heard anything from them since the invasion began. Neither she or Thomas had any idea if they were alive or dead, but if a pair of nukes hit the city, that didn't bode very well for them.

"Hope we blew those fucking lizards to hell." Katherine snarled; Melanie agreed wholeheartedly.

Her brother was startled when they first arrived, but quickly regained his composure. He quickly lost it, though, when he learned that Charleston had been bombed. A single tear crawled out of his eye, but he stayed silent. What could either of them say? Neither of them had heard any news about their parents for months.

"Normally, we'd have you spend some time recuperating before sending you out again, but we don't have that luxury." He informed them. "Lieutenant Hicks, at your service."

"Understandable; at least we're on the offensive for once." Thomas replied, his eyes hollow. Despite how terrified Melanie felt about going back into combat, a large part of her was looking forward to it.

_They'll pay; I swear they'll pay. _Melanie thought angrily.

XXXXXXXXXX

November 28, 1982:

_Here we go again, _Betvoss sighed to himself. One of their troopcarriers had been disabled, although thankfully not the one he was inside. No fatalities, but three of the males inside were injured. He was among the individuals watching all the buildings and people for any further attacks.

As a whole, though, he considered this in some ways easier than the previous fighting he was doing. Deaths and equipment losses were incremental, not wholesale. "By the emperor, when is this going to end?" Premas sighed. Not everyone shared his opinion, however. "This seems to go on forever."

"I wish I could argue with you." Votal responded, his eye turrets still scanning the area. "Unfortunately, I cannot."

The downside of this was that the fighting was constant and they could never know when a sniper would hit them, or when a bomb would explode in their presence, either by driving over one or having it detonate when they turned a corner. Betvoss looked over the Big Uglies and had no doubt that at least a few of them were members of the resistance.

All of them were getting used to danger, though, and there were no further attacks as they repaired the vehicle and flew the injured males to an aid tent. "I almost wish they would have attacked us; then we could have gotten rid of some of those pests." Premas hissed. His words made a certain amount of cold-blooded sense.

"But then they would have replaced their numbers," A male that had been in China since the beginning of the conquest pointed out. "Hardly seems fair, does it? We endure three casualties and they take none."

"Keep your eye turrets ready; they could launch another attack at any time during our patrol." The platoon commander warned.

"Yes, superior sir." Everyone else replied, even if it seemed like common sense. Most of those who were too foolish to follow such simple advice were already with the spirits of Emperors Past. Not that taking all precautions would be certain protection; Betvoss had seen males that were better soldiers than he was killed by the Big Uglies.

A second mine was detected and destroyed before their vehicles ran over it. This time, though, Tosevite bandits ambushed them. Betvoss immediately dived to the ground and killed as many of them as he could. These individuals were obviously untrained, likely their first taste of combat. He managed to take down three with a matter of moments and killed a fourth that was attempting to throw a... what the Tosevites called a "Molotov Cocktail" at their troopcarrier.

This time, none of them had suffered any injuries. "If only it was this easy all the time," Betvoss declared as their patrol resumed. Close to a dozen civilian Tosevites were killed; it was considered a minor concern to most, even if their superiors ordered them to minimize such incidents.

The skirmish may have been easy, but the war in China wasn't. Their advance had halted and the previous week, another two divisions had to be pulled to subdue the growing rebellion, males that were badly needed on other fronts.

The rest of their patrol went without incident, for which all of them were very thankful. Their bases were mostly safe, but even there, the Big Uglies launched mortars in their direction and too many shots could get through even the Race's construction.

"We've got a couple days rest; I intend to make the most of it." Premas declared.

"As am I... but not without keeping an eye on the Big Uglies." Votal added. A few males of the Race had already been poisoned by the Big uglies serving them food, which was why they were now forced to taste it before they served it to them. The ones that were caught insisted that they were innocent, that others had planted the poison. It might even have been true, but it didn't matter; all of them were executed.

"Agreed; it's a chance to get warm as well." Betvoss opened his mouth. He was told that this area was warm compared to some parts of Tosev 3, but he still felt cold even after wrapping himself up in clothing. Personally, he didn't even want to know what the truly cold weather was like, especially since winter was beginning in the Northern Hemisphere. He pitied the males who were forced to endure such conditions.

He heard the news feeds around the base, trying to put the best possible spin on the nuclear attacks the Americans launched at their positions. Nothing could hide the fact, though, that tens of thousands of males of the Race were dead, and 8 starships had been destroyed.

Betvoss knew all too well how determined they were. The Chinese were no less so, but had considerably less to fight with, even if the superpowers were providing them with equipment and training. They formerly had a nuclear arsenal before the Race destroyed it during the initial landing. _We hope, anyway. _Betvoss thought. Whenever intelligence believed something to be true, he was inclined to think the opposite was the case.

He let out a small sigh. That was not the way a proper Male of the Race was supposed to think. Betvoss would never have been so skeptical of his superiors before he went into cold sleep on a conquest that most assumed would be a walkover. He took for granted that his superiors knew more than he did about the proper way to do things, and he followed their lead.

Now, though, Betvoss had a great deal of trouble believing that, even on his good days. He had killed many tosevites, the Race had conquered large portions of the Big Uglies' most advanced not-empires, but contrary to what he had been told, they had not given in. If anything, the Big Uglies were fighting harder than ever. Why couldn't they figure that out? That begged the question, though: if explosive-metal bombs would not convince them to submit, what would?

He kept quiet about his growing skepticism of his superiors. Betvoss was far from the only one with those sentiments, however, he was certain. He had also had to adapt to a far greater degree than he had ever imagined when he left Home. How could the Big Uglies advance so quickly in 1,680 years? (He naturally used his own planet's revolutions rather than Tosev 3's slow pace)

Despite the danger and his misgivings, he did his best to enjoy his respite from combat. This was a proper building for the Race, not one of the Big Ugly strongholds their forces were currently using. Betvoss messed around with the computer simulations, including a few games that he enjoyed back on Home.

Even if he was bored, the feeling was very preferable to terror, which he endured during every fight with the Big Uglies. Betvoss caught up with Premas and the two of them decided to stay together. Friendships counted for the Race much more than it did for the Big Uglies; he'd heard that the enemy actually had families, a concept Betvoss still did not have more than a slight understanding of.

"Have you noticed that a lot of our fellow males are acting... odd?" Premas wondered.

"Not really, no." Betvoss made the negative hand gesture. Since Premas brought the subject to his attention, however, he looked around the base. Most were just doing as they always did whenever they were off the front lines, but a few... his fellow infantrymale was right; they were acting different. Unless the light tricked him, he could have sworn that he saw one male stick his tongue out and taste some kind of herb.

"Well, right after I got back, one of the clerks offered me some kind of herb." Premas responded. "Called it ginger, said it would be the best thing I've ever known, even better than anything on Home."

"What did you tell him?" Betvoss wondered. Now his interest was piqued.

"I thought about taking it, but... I had a bad feeling about him." Premas admitted. "When I declined, he cursed at me and skittered off."

"You made the correct decision, then." Betvoss approved. As a rule, Males of the Race behaved better than the Big Uglies, but that didn't mean they didn't have some shady characters as well. "I've gotten one or two offers myself." He'd kept quiet until now, since he didn't see that it was a major issue, but learning that it was not an isolated case made him begin to believe that he was mistaken.

"By the emperor, what is going on?" Premas wondered.

"I have no idea; I wish I did." Betvoss sighed. As a whole, though, he was far more concerned about enjoying what safety he could before going out on his next patrol. He ate his meal after making sure it wasn't poisoned, and afterwards sat down and tried not to think. He wasn't much in the mood for watching old movies, and had never been much of a book reader, paperback or electronic.

"Ten thousand years old and this is still quite popular." For Premas, it was an entertaining pastime. "I'm glad they were able to ship at least some of these with us for the trip." Unlike many, he also preferred to read the paper versions.

Half a dozen mortar shells hit the base, making Betvoss jump up and reach for his weapon before remembering that he had set it inside his locker. Only officers were permitted to carry weapons on base. Fortunately, the armor held, or they would be in far more trouble, but it was a reminder that Southern China had not yet been pacified.

"It never seem to end, does it?" Betvoss complained, his breathing and heart rate slowing down. Absently, he wondered when they would be allowed to carry weapons when not on active duty. No base in this part of the world had suffered more than a small raid, but with the Big Uglies, that could change at any time. Personally, he thought it was a foolish rule, but if his superiors thought otherwise, what could he do about it?

The rest of the day was uneventful, except for a bulletin containing an order from the fleetlord himself banning the Tosevite herb Ginger and warning that anyone found with it after three days would be punished. Betvoss couldn't see very many males disobeying it, even if the attempted conquest so far had changed them in ways not previously imagined.

Betvoss refused to admit it, even to himself, but he was beginning to think this was an impossible task for the Race.


	12. Chapter 12

I'm sorry about the delay on this chapter. I was sick for over two weeks, severely hampering my ability to write. Hopefully, this entry will make up for it. Enjoy!

XXXXXXXXXX

December 11, 1982:

"What exactly is the point of this?" Andrei asked, only barely managing to conceal how bored he was with the whole presentation. He had requested that he return to the front lines, where he could actually contribute to the war effort. He was not serving the motherland by going to these endless meetings and presentation.

Looking around the room, he saw that some of the representatives had the same opinion, but many of the Americans were enjoying hearing about alien planets. Currently, the ones lecturing were science-fiction writers, who were explaining everything they knew about the lizards. Unfortunately, much of it was little more than conjecture; not very useful.

_On the other hand, perhaps their information will be useful after all. _Andrei mused. They may have been civilians and he would not have let them know this kind of classified information, but at the same time, they were used to thinking outside of established parameters. Some of them could put themselves in the lizards' shoes and see events from their perspective.

"Can it really be true that the lizards worship their dead emperors as gods?" An Italian representative asked. "And even if they do, does this have any relevance to resisting them?"

"It's not as impossible as it seems." One of the presenter pointed out. Andrei knew he was a best-selling science fiction author, but could not pin him any more precisely than that. "Many cultures on earth venerate their ancestors and we have many similarities to the Race even today. What some would call a more benevolent version of a 'Cult of Personality'." He aimed those words directly at the Soviet and Chinese representatives.

"So what does this mean for us?" The main Japanese representative inquired. Unlike most of the major powers on Earth, Japan had been mostly spared from the invasion, suffering only air raids instead of direct invasion. Their scientists mentioned that the planet the Lizards called "Home" was mostly covered in land instead of water, meaning that they overlooked even large island.

"It means that even if we are currently winning this war at the moment, we cannot expect this to be a short struggle." This author Andrei did realize as Robert Heinlein. "For the Race, the emperor means absolutely everything, the same way a devout Christian, Jew, or Muslim follows the word of god... or a Communist follows the word of Marx."

"Or a capitalist follows Adam Smith..." Andrei pointed out, beginning to get tired at all the verbal jabs. He gave as good as he received, but it was becoming a major distraction.

"Their Emperor has ordered their fleet to conquer Earth, or Tosev 3, as they have designated us." Arthur C. Clarke pointed out. "They will obey, no matter how much this costs them. It is quite possible that they... will fight to the death." He looked extremely unhappy at those last words.

"Wouldn't they see reason?" Someone protested. "Yes, we're inferior to them in technology, but not so inferior as to allow them conquest. There are 5 billion humans on Earth, outnumbering their fleet 250 to 1. They can't possibly win at those odds."

"Do not forget their colonization fleet." Ludmila pointed out. "They will not leave their colonists defenseless, comrades." Andrei silently congratulated her for making an intelligent argument. The Soviet Union had come to the conclusion, perhaps sooner than everyone else.

"So we have to kill their entire army in order to persuade them to give up?" the sole Vietnamese general groaned. After the brief moment of despair, however, he continued. "If that is what is necessary, then we will fight on regardless of what any other nation might do." His nation had been quickly conquered, but the lizards were having about as much fun fighting in the jungle as the West had a decade before. They were little more than a nuisance, even with outside support, but nuisances all over Earth added up to deadly threats.

"Let us hope that will not be necessary." Robinson cut in, gesturing the assembled individuals to continue listening to the presentation without interruptions. Andrei did his best to put attention, even though much of this part of the lecture involved things he knew little about even on Earth, let alone an alien civilization.

Ludmila had many questions, but was too disciplined to ask him. _Suppose I can allow her a couple once all of this is over, _He thought. Andrei's only interest was information that could help them win the war, although a brief chuckle escaped his lips when they were informed that the lizards had a mating season instead of being fertile year-round, which was the reason the conquest fleet was all male; apart from the season, they mostly ignored the sex difference.

The next part was about the lizards' homeworld itself. There was a model of Tau Ceti, with its planets lined up on it. "The planet of the Race is outside what we consider the habitable zone for planets." Clarke stated. "We believed that a planet so close would be unsuitable and too hot for life, but we're beginning to understand more."

"How can it be so close to its star and have life?" A German Colonel asked. Andrei gave him a brief death glare. The Great Patriotic War had been over for 37 years, but his hatred for them had not dimmed one bit since then. He gave a guilty look at Andrei's glare.

"We were assuming that a habitable planet would be like Earth, with oceans equal to or greater than theirs." Issac Asimov informed them. "However, Home is a desert planet, in addition to the two other planets that the Race has already conquered during its long history. The British were kind enough to lend us one of their planetologists who believes that the reason their planet is still habitable is because of its lack of water, allowing it to avoid a runaway greenhouse effect that would happen to an Earth-like planet in a similar position."

"And Tau Ceti is a smaller and less luminous star than our own." Heinlein added. "According to the Race and our own estimates, it has 78% of our Sun's mass and 51.8% of our luminosity. We would not originally have considered such a planet habitable, but the truth is right in front of us."

The next slide was a photo of Home and Andrei was amazed at how different it was from Earth. He was used to seeing massive oceans, but here, there were only a few large lakes and seas scattered around the surface. Much of it was desert, and from the information, the lizard's planet was on average much warmer.

"Due to the planet's smaller tilt, the seasons vary considerably less than here." Heinlein explained. "Its record temperature is 65 degrees C, only slightly higher than our 56.7 C record. However, its lower temperature are very different, with it only being -25 degrees C, 64 degrees hotter than our own record temperatures."

"With a 15 degree axial tilt and approximately 2.38 Earth Masses, we did not consider it a candidate for life, even if its atmosphere is similar to our own, except for being a little thicker." Clarke added. "That, and very little water vapor; only 6.8% of the surface is covered by water."

"Seems more like Arrakis than Earth." Andrei heard someone whisper behind him. He knew little of science fiction, but he had read the novel "Dune", which made him familiar with the fictional planet. From what he remembered of the book, the comparison was rather apt. _This planet's nearly impossible to live on for them! Why would they choose Earth? _He couldn't help but wonder.

The writers mentioned that the lizard's home had 33 percent higher gravity, even though the planet was nearly 2.7 times more massive. Their moon was also much larger than Earth's nearly the size of Mercury, orbiting approximately three million kilometers away. "At least we can take advantage of the fact that the lizards cannot stand cold weather." Ludmila whispered. She was correct; considering their biology, they made a grave mistake invading the Soviet Union.

The presentation began to finish up, with questions from the audience, primarily about why the lizards advanced so slowly compared to humans. "As for now, we have no concrete reason as to why." Clarke declared. "It's a common trope for science fiction that we advance far more quickly than any other life form, but in this case, it appears to be true. The main hypothesis right now are that the planet is united under a single government and thus there is no need for technological advances and compete with regional neighbors. The second is that even with their advanced technology, their society is essentially feudal and allows little or no innovation."

"Can we do anything for their subject races?" Robinson asked. "The lizards have held them down for thousands of years; we should free them from their grasp as soon as we have the opportunity."

"The Rabotevs and Hallessi are as loyal to the Emperor as the Race is." Heinlein replied. "On a personal level, I agree with you, but we are in no position to assist them. We need to worry about ourselves first right now. Once we've beaten them, we'll see what can be done."

The writers mentioned that the Rabotevs home was around 61 Cygni A and was 1.3 earth masses, but thanks to its lower density and large radius, the gravity was only 2.4% higher than on Earth. The Halessi were orbiting around 82 G Eridani, another star similar to the sun. Andrei cared little where they came from; all he was interested in was how to beat them.

Once the presentation was over, he and Ludmila left the room and retreated to their usual quarters. _Still, I can't help but be a little interested in what they just told us. _Andrei thought. The lizards were not capitalists, not in the human sense of the term. They were far more like the ancient economic systems, with masters and slaves. If their development was as slow as it now seemed... that boded badly for them.

After Brezhnev's death, there had been a power struggle among the veterans of the Communist Party. Fortunately, all of them a least realized that it was secondary to the struggle against the lizards and did nothing so extreme to sabotage their rivals. Andrei was slightly surprised, even though he would never say a word to that effect in public.

It also meant that his petition for reassignment was going to be completely ignored for the foreseeable future, until a new General Secretary had been chosen. With his knowledge of Soviet efficiency, it was likely that it would be buried in papers, never to be found by another living being.

As much as he wanted to be on the front, Andrei still served the Soviet Union well. He was doing everything he could to keep India in the orbit of the Soviet Union, although his success there had been limited. Even during an alien invasion, the superpowers were still playing their usual political games. And they played it well, that much he would give them. The irony of the west sending military advisers to Vietnam to aid their former enemies did not escape them. The Soviets tried the same thing in Afghanistan, only to see them all killed by the people they were supposedly attempting to help.

_We'll make them pay once this war is over, _Andrei promised; he looked forward to it. They could never lose to such foolish, primitive people, certainly not ones as primitive as the Afghans.

A phone call shook him out of his thoughts. Andrei needed a moment to realize that it was the red phone, the one that gave him direct communication with Moscow. Whatever it was, it had to be extremely important. "Hello?" Andrei asked simply, unsure as to who it was.

"I just received your latest request for a transfer back to your old division." A familiar voice stated on the other line.

"Comrade, what can I do for you?" Andrei asked, doubting that this call could be solely about his frequent petitions. Andropov was one of the more senior members of the party, and from what he knew about the politics, considered a moderate by many.

"First of all, I can say that your petition has been denied." Yuri Andropov replied. "And it's Comrade General Secretary now; the news will be made public in a few days. I trust you can keep it quiet until then."

"Of... of course, Comrade General Secretary." Andrei replied. Ludmila left the room and shut the door. He was positive that no efforts to tap the line had been successful; his NKVD entourage, however much he disliked them, were very good at what they did. "You may rely on my discretion."

"However much you may want to return to the front, you are serving the Soviet Union here just as competently and I do not want to replace you with someone less experienced." Andropov said politely, but it was an order all the same. Andrei gave a mental sigh; he'd do everything he can in Iceland, then.

"So how can I assist you, Comrade General Secretary?" Andrei wondered.

Andropov waited a few moments before replying. "I need to know how the counterattacks in the other nations are progressing. Do we have a real chance to throw the Race off our soil this year or will this be a long struggle?"

Andrei wondered why he was asking this of him, especially since he had many other advisers and analysts giving him information, but he would still reply. "I believe that this will be a long struggle. Their emperor has ordered them to conquer Earth, which is to them as if God came down to us and told us to conquer another planet. They obey in ways that would put even devout Christians to shame." He was mentioning a God he technically wasn't supposed to believe in, but religious restrictions were much more relaxed than when he was younger.

"I was afraid of that." Andropov responded. "You aren't the only one to say so, either. A minority view is that victory will soon be ours, but I believe otherwise. They are much less dangerous to us than the Germans were, but just as determined. Stay in Iceland; learn everything you can about our enemy." The last word meant both the lizards and the West.

"I serve the Soviet Union." Andrei responded, disappointed. He was hoping that his opinion would be on the fringe, but that wasn't the case. As a whole, Russians tended to be cynical people, so the news did not surprise him. "I will learn everything possible."

"I expect nothing less from you," Andropov declared and hung up.

How determined would the Race be? Would they be willing to fight even after massive losses? The worst case scenario was that they would fight to the death, even when they realized it would be impossible to conquer Earth. He wrote a note to research that possibility and possible methods of discouraging the lizards from taking that path.

XXXXXXXXXX

December 13, 1982:

"That's the stuff..." Wuppah hissed as he took another taste of ginger, his third one today. He had very nearly caved earlier, but decided to wait until after the mission they flew to do so. Much as he enjoyed the herb, he didn't want to go into combat drugged. Vicious as the Big Uglies were, they were far from stupid. He was smart enough to realize that if he believed that no enemy could ever harm him, he was likely to end up dead.

He kept quiet, at least at best as he was able. Ginger made him restless, made him want to go into combat, but Wuppah had been flying nonstop for two days and all his other squadmales were utterly exhausted. Even the drug did not hide his exhaustion entirely. _I could take down a hundred Big Uglies right now! _Wuppah thought triumphantly. He paced through the barracks, wishing that he could go into action once more.

Most of them were snoring and even in his ginger-induced haze, Wuppah was careful not to wake any of them up. Ginger was highly illegal and if someone spotted him so restless, they might wonder what was going on, especially since by all right, he should be sleeping like everyone else.

Ginger didn't just raise you, though; it dropped you... hard. Depression threatened to overwhelm him, feeling as real as the ecstasy Ginger brought him. "Get yourself together, by the Emperor." He hissed to himself, briefly dropping his eye turrets. He was not inside a killercraft and thus, the ritual respect put him in no danger.

It was times like these when he wished he never tried the herb in the first place. Wuppah knew it was a moment of weakness that allowed it to get its fingerclaws inside him, but doubted his superiors would be in the least sympathetic if they caught him as a ginger user. True, they couldn't afford to keep him off duty for long, not with the conquest killing so many males, but they would find him an extremely unpleasant and likely short-lived duty.

Wuppah turned his eye turrets towards Dresn, glaring at him furiously. He was apparently one of the top ginger dealers at the base, even if he did not use the herb himself. Ginger had also made him quite wealthy, which he cunningly hid in multiple concealed accounts. He sometimes thought about turning him in, even if he would get in trouble as well, but even if he was a dealer, he was an excellent pilot and a fellow squadmale, so his mouth stayed shut.

That, and he kept his word. Dresn was a cheap source of ginger, and Wuppah had nothing else to spend his pay on, so why not? He nearly reached for another taste, but he would soon be in-flight again and with the drug worn off, his exhaustion began to overtake him. He laid down on his cot and fell asleep almost immediately.

The next thing he knew, Ristin and Chook were pulling him out of his bed. "You must get up!" Ristin insisted. "We are nearly late!"

Wearily, he got off his bunk and put on his flight suit, which unlike many suits the Race brought to Tosev 3, was very insulated, protecting him from the elements. In the USSR, that was doubly important. Even with the clothing and the fight suit, however, he felt cold. Snow was extremely rare on Home outside of the poles, but was disturbingly common on Tosev 3. The natives could shiver to keep themselves warm, but the Race did not have that ability.

He made all the standard checks before taking off, while the technicians made one last search of his killercraft to ensure that there was nothing wrong. When they were satisfied, Wuppah rocketed into the air, hoping that his relative lack of sleep would not impair his reflexes. Air travel was getting more dangerous by the day.

During the counterattack, the Big Uglies revealed a considerable killercraft reserve. The Race believed that all or most of their killercraft were shot down or destroyed on the ground during the initial fighting. While many were, the Big Uglies hid their remaining craft and allowed their anti-air defenses to wear the Race down. Although they had suffered dearly for that tactic, it was beginning to prove itself effective.

None of them had been spotted near their base in the Southern USSR, but reports were becoming increasingly alarmed. "So what is our target?" Wuppah asked.

"We'll be coming up on it in approximately ten minutes." Chook informed.

"That soon?" Dresn responded. "The Big Uglies are really getting bold, aren't they?"

"I'm afraid so." Ristin hissed. "The sooner we kill them, the happier off I'll be."

_The sooner we're done, the sooner I can taste ginger. _Wuppah thought. He was already feeling jittery and depressed without it. He worked extra hard to keep his body paint looking like new so none of his superiors suspected anything. Several flightmales had already been caught and taken from the base, with the statement that their punishment would be severe.

Anti-air missiles announced that the fight was about to begin. Wuppah launched two air-to-ground missiles on two targets, knowing that they had to make sure the bombers got through to destroy whatever fortifications the USSR had set up. Each craft had only ten missiles instead of eighteen now, their ammunition having to be carefully rationed. They were supposed to be building new ones from Tosevite factories, with Race technicians of the Race building the more advanced electronics on them.

The bombers dropped their entire load, but one of them was shot down just as it did so, crashing into Tosev 3. With luck, the crew would never have known what hit them.

"They are with the emperors now," Dresn whispered. Wuppah found it amazing that a ginger dealer could still have so much respect for their sovereign.

"Are there any enemy killercraft coming our way?" Wuppah inquired, checking his radar to make sure. He had rumors of Tosevite killercraft that could conceal themselves from radar, but so far, that had been confined to the United States alone.

"No, I don't see any." Chook responded, somewhat reassuring the others. With the Big Uglies, though, you could never tell if the USSR or Britain or France or anyone else would start using them. Wuppah blew up three of their landcruisers, but was now out of air-to-ground missiles.

Another killercraft was destroyed, the pilot vaporized. Wuppah winced; that could just as easily have been him. Out of 100 craft, only two were destroyed, making it, as a whole, an inexpensive attack. Their base and vehicles had been destroyed, along with a large number of casualties. _If only it was always that easy. _The closer his mission was to completion, the more he craved ginger. The fact it was so close made him want it all the more.

Suddenly, they spotted enemy killercraft headed in their direction. The Race had destroyed every enemy air base they could find, but the Soviets were experts at camouflage and concealment. What Wuppah saw horrified him; they were outnumbered. "Can the remaining killercraft get here in time?" Wuppah asked, trying to hide his nervousness.

"Provided that the technician move faster than what is considered acceptable, yes." Chook replied.

"Doesn't matter how many there are; we'll crush them!" One of his fellow flightmales exclaimed with jubilation. Wuppah was almost certain that he was a ginger taster. He had enough restraint not to taste on missions; the same could not be said for others.

"Get into standard formation; they will be within maximum range within minutes, but do not fire until optimal range." The overall commander Yts ordered. "We do not have so many missiles as to risk a single one being wasted."

_What about the ones lost when we ending up being shot down because they fire first? _Wuppah thought to himself. If he was in imminent danger, he'd launch everything, hopefully taking some of the Big Uglies with him. He knew how fortunate he had been to survive the first time he had been shot down. Having it occur a second time was highly unlikely.

When they got to within 40 Tlocks, Wuppah launched his long-range missile. The others attached to his craft were unable to travel so far, but even one enemy killercraft shot down would help. Others had the same idea, wanting to kill them at long-range.

If anything, they had more effect that Wuppah dared hope. While not up to the Race's standard, the Tosevite jamming was still formidable, but 2/3rds of the missiles hit their targets, a much higher ratio that most air-to-air fighting. "Take that, Big Uglies!" Dresn cheered.

Despite the heavy losses, the Big Uglies kept coming; Wuppah expected nothing less. He stopped flying in a straight line in order to make himself as difficult a target as possible. One thing he did have was maneuverability, since Home had stronger gravity than Tosev 3. The Big Uglies were firing the first of their missiles now, taking down two killercraft. One pilot managed to bail out; the other was killed.

The actual fighting was only just beginning, however. Once they were within 20 Tlocks of one another, hundreds of missiles were fired at once, from both sides. Wuppah went into full evasive action when his equipment detected two headed directly for his killercraft. One was dodged, while the other was evaded by flares.

Killercraft on both sides were being destroyed left and right. There was no restraint; pilots fired whatever they had, believing that the missiles were better off used than destroyed. Wuppah could hear the screams of the dying through his communications, and prayed to the emperor that he would not be one of them.

If not for the friend-or-foe radar, he would never have been able to tell which was which. There were hundreds of killercraft flying at top speed. A couple were even within visual range and thus, unable to evade his missiles in time. Dresn fired his last two at a single target, succeeding in his goal but also leaving him quite vulnerable.

The enemy became close enough that Wuppah was actually able to use his guns to down the Tosevite craft. However, he had only enough bullets for twenty seconds of continuous fire, so he had to wait for the exact moment. He only barely managed to fire his flares before he would have been killed, less than half a second. Being so close to meeting the emperors badly chilled him, even if he would have gladly served them in death as he did in life.

He let loose with his guns, firing for ten seconds. The pilot had time to parachute out, but his killercraft was ruined. Wuppah intended to finish him off, only to be distracted by another enemy. He barrel rolled to the left, diving down to avoid the bullet stream. He had only a single missile left, and did not intend to use it unless absolutely necessary.

It turned out that it wasn't necessary. Chook saw that he was in trouble and blew the enemy out of the sky, very possibly saving Wuppah's life. The dogfights had only lasted a matter of minutes, but it was already beginning to die down. Ristin had been shot down, although he succeeded in escaping his killercraft.

The Tosevites began to retreat. Wuppah wanted to wipe them out, but they were severely depleted of ammunition and none of them could be sure that they were not walking into another trap. The Big Uglies were very good at pretending they were beaten, only to stage another ambush. Did the Race win or the Big Uglies?

Once he landed again, the first thing he did was go back to his barracks and take another taste of ginger. Wuppah felt all his problems disappear, and victory was certain. The small part of his mind that was still rational reminded him that this feeling was only temporary. He worried at times about being caught, but the Big Uglies were a much more pressing concern.

Wuppah took a second taste as soon as he finished the first, feeling content even on this miserable, hate-filled iceball of a planet.

XXXXXXXXXX

December 16, 1982:

"Fire and move! Fire and move!" Alexis screamed at his men, but he could barely hear the sound of his own voice through the fighting. Fortunately, his squad was taking his advice to heart, even if they were far less adept at it than he was.

The Allied army had completely surrounded Orleans, trapping the lizard defenders within the city. His superiors decided to surround the city instead of trying to take it, both to keep the imitative and to keep civilian casualties to a minimum. Too many had already died in the invasion and the nuclear strikes and public opinion was highly against losing more. It was hoped that the lizards would eventually surrender.

As a whole, though, this was little more than a skirmish in the grand scheme of things. Alexis took cover behind a boulder, making sure to keep a close eye on his squad. Whether they lived or died depended a lot on what he did to keep them safe.

The Allied forces had knowledge of the territory, and the lizards had become overextended. However, superior technology and determination partially made up for their disadvantage. His squad was abruptly brought to a halt when an APC was spotted and none of them had anti-vehicle weapons. Their only recourse was to hide and not draw attention to themselves until it was either destroyed or drove away.

"So what now?" Fernand wondered. A brief smell informed Alexis that he had soiled himself, but there were far more important things to worry about at the moment.

"We appear to be stuck here." Lucien pointed out.

"Just wait and don't draw attention to yourselves." Alexis snapped at them. Machine gun fire and grenades continued in every direction. Fortunately, he could tell the difference between the sounds of the two sides and they were slowly advancing, although not without heavy casualties.

Eventually, the APC and its escorts moved on, not noticing the squad that were only twenty-five meters away. "Ok, we've still got a job to do." Alexis ordered. "This fight isn't over yet! We're going to send these sons of bitches back to the planet they belong to!" Absently, he realized that he had no idea where the lizards came from, but it didn't really matter, so long as they were driven off of Earth.

Each group had split off into smaller and smaller formations as the skirmish wore on. Alexis led his troops through the grasslands, staying as low as possible. He sniped one 150 yards away that had not taken sufficient cover. Even if the lizard wasn't dead, he'd be out of action for a long time. He threw a grenade just to make sure he didn't have any of his buddies with him.

An enemy machine gun fired off in the distance. "We're taking them down; stay calm, stay alert, and follow me." Alexis ordered. They could kill an entire platoon of their men if they weren't stopped, which was exactly what he intended to do. Fortunately, there was ample cover, but that also provided protection to the enemy as well as his own men.

One of his squad members was hit in the leg and screamed. "Medic!" Alexis bellowed, but knew it was no use. If they were going to save him, they would have to do it here and now. "Grab his arms; let me take a look at his wound!" Lucian rushed to obey, while the other four stayed on watch.

Alexis hated what he saw. The bullet had gone right through Corin's thigh and a rapid pool of blood was forming. He stuck a needle of morphine in his leg, hoping that it would at least dull the pain. Alexis applied the antiseptic and wrapped the bandages as tightly as he could, putting pressure on the wound, which was bleeding out from both sides. "Keep pressure here!" He pointed to the back of Corin's leg.

Unfortunately, the bullet had severed his femoral artery, causing him to bleed to death within a few minutes. Alexis cursed to himself, feeling guilty that he couldn't protect him. He knew he shouldn't; it was a risk all of them had taken when he signed up, but the sentiment was there nonetheless. He had gotten used to seeing death all around him, so much so that he wondered if he would ever fit into the civilian world again.

But he couldn't grieve long. The machine gun was hunting them down, firing bullets wherever their crew thought his squad was hiding. _No rocks to hide behind, even. _Alexis sighed. Those bullets could penetrate any tree in the forest, so at best it offered them concealment. "What do we do now?" Lucien asked, looking to be on the edge of terror.

"Wait for an opportunity; split into two groups." Alexis ordered. "I'll try to keep its attention on me. We advance... cautiously, but we advance. Snipe them if you can." He and Fernand moved first to the right, firing at they moved, swiftly dropping to the ground to avoid retaliation. This was a big risk and he knew it; troops attempting to eliminate a machine gun crew without artillery or snipers were almost always killed during World War I, but they'd be dead anyway if they didn't try.

They zigzagged around the wildlife until they were within 40 meters, but even there, neither of them had a clear shot. Alexis fired anyway, believing that they could at least make them keep their heads down. Ferdand threw two grenades and both of them could swear that they heard a cry of pain, although it was difficult to tell through all the chaos.

As it turned out, it was only a single male, something Alexis had difficulty believing. _Guess alien technology has its advantages. _Alexis thought. He fired the rest of his clip, then dived and reloaded. He had only two left and knew his ammunition had to be used sparingly. Lucien ultimately stuck the fatal blow, however. The machine gun stopped chattering, meaning that the tactic work, much to his surprise..

"We'll take it with us; R&amp;D will be quite interested in this thing." Alexis declared. The lizard wasn't quite dead yet, however, though it was clear nothing was going to save him. He put a bullet through his skull as a mercy kill.

"Doesn't look so tough from here, does he?" Ferdand remarked.

"No, no, he doesn't." Alexis wondered who this lizard was. Did he have a family that did not yet know that he was never coming home? Did he wonder what they were fighting for? What did the lizard believe in? Many questions, none of which he could answer. "One less lizard to deal with, at least."

They won the skirmish, but lost the battle as the lizards brought in their helicopters to saturate the area with rockets and bombs. Alexis was forced to retreat two kilometers to the northwest where they halted the lizard counterattack. Even if they lost, he knew that their losses could not be replaced. "Not that it's easy for us, either." Alexis muttered, thinking of poor Corin. The boy was barely twenty, far too young to die like that.

"Sir... how do you get used to this?" Ferdand asked. "I'm so frightened, I can barely hold a gun straight."

"You never do, not really." Alexis shook his head. "You just learn not to let the fear master you. All it takes is practice." Skirmishing continued into the night, but neither side made a serious attempt to advance on the other. Nevertheless, he was unable to sleep, guilt still eating at him. It was not the first person he'd lost, but Corin was the first who died under his command; he was unlikely to be the last, as unpleasant as that sounded.

XXXXXXXXXX

December 20, 1982:

Once again, Atvar viewed the Tosevite images from the probe that the Race had sent 1,680 years ago (Half as many years by Tosev 3's perspective) This was the best warrior that they expected to face, the most advanced technology on this planet at the time. "If only it was this simple," Atvar hissed.

"Truth, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel agreed.

He knew it was foolish, looking at this image every few days, but he couldn't help himself. Atvar would much rather have imagined it than what their current military situation was. Much to their misfortune, their most formidable opponents were also areas that grew intolerable to the Race during the winter and the Big Uglies were taking full advantage of it.

Their advance was slow at first, but over the past week, had gained a great deal of momentum. Atvar changed the hologram to the numerous explosive-metal bombs that had already been used. This one was the only one that got through and hit Paris, but it could just as easily been Newport News, Philadelphia, or the Big Ugly weapons that had destroyed their starships on the ground.

"We've lost a quarter of our tactical weapons." Atvar sighed. Twenty-five of their explosive-metal bombs had been destroyed, meaning that their stockpile was constantly shrinking.

"Truth, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel replied. "You gave the order to spread the remaining bombs on more of our starships and keeping those possessing them in orbit, which solves the problem."

"Perhaps, but what we have now is quite bad enough." Atvar admitted. He wasn't entirely confident that the Big Uglies were incapable of hitting them in orbit. Straha had raised a very similar concern and as much as he disliked his rival, he couldn't help but think that he had merit.

He changed the hologram again to a map of Tosev 3, with the conquered areas in red. The Southern half of China, much of India and Pakistan, Southeast Asia, Mexico and the Southwestern United states, Eastern Europe and large parts of the Soviet Union, along with Italy, Spain, Eastern Germany, Southern France, and what the natives called the great Lakes Region in the United States. "We can be proud of our successes thus far, considering what we are up against." Kirel stated.

"By the emperor, even the regions we've supposedly conquered have not yet been pacified." Atvar was in no mood to celebrate. By this time, most believed that Tosev 3 would belong to the Emperor. It was the whole reason he rebalanced his forces to face only the northern hemisphere, but even with the knowledge of their technology, he did not foresee the difficulty. He thought using explosive-metal bombs would terrorize them into submission, but if anything, it was only making the Big Uglies fight harder.

"It's not as bad as all that, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel responded, trying to look on the positive side. "We have wrecked much of their industry, and our weapons are still superior to theirs. Their equipment, like ours, is complex and takes time to manufacture in great numbers."

"I hope you're right," was all Atvar would say in response. His subordinate was right; much of their industry was wrecked, along with as many hydrocarbon fields that they could hunt down. It would slow down their production, but he was beginning to realize just how big a planet really was. He lacked the munitions to do everything he wanted, and it became an even bigger problem when 3 of their factory ships were destroyed.

"Exalted Fleetlord, the Soviet representative as arrived." Pshing walked into to inform.

"I will be with him shortly." Atvar declared, although he would much rather have shot him and thrown out the airlock. The USSR had come into power by murdering their emperor, something he did his best to shove out of his mind. It would not help matters if he bit him to death.

After taking one last look at the hologram, he skittered out of the room and summoned an interpreter that could speak Russian. Two guards escorted the representative to ensure that he did not wander the ship and see anything he wasn't supposed to.

Andrei Gromyko, however, seemed content to simply sit where he was. Atvar did his best to read his emotions, but his skill was far from perfect. As best he could tell, the man showed little more than a minor annoyance.

"Tell him I greet him in the name of the emperor and ask why he has requested a meeting." Atvar ordered his interpreter. He wanted this over with as quickly as possible.

"I have been instructed by my government to negotiate a No First Use policy." Gromyko said simply, looking at Atvar with experienced eyes. Gromyko's interpreter was less adapt at concealing what he thought and looked worried.

Atvar knew that this would not be a surrender, not with the Soviet Union advancing in Siberia and pushing the Race's forces from Moscow. "What do you mean, a No First Use policy?" He asked, deciding to get to the heart of the matter.

"I am here to tell you that we will not resort to nuclear weapons unless your forces use them on us first." Gromyko informed him. Atvar could have been imagining things, but he thought the Tosevite looked unhappy at that news. "If, however, you resort to them, we will take any measures necessary to defend the Rodina."

_Just what I suspected, _Atvar thought. Even his most optimistic intelligence reports warned that the Soviet Union still had plenty of explosive-metal bombs remaining. Most of their land-based missiles had been destroyed, but their submarines were still intact. In the entire conquest, the Race had only succeeded in destroying one and they didn't even know which not-empire we belong to.

"The Race is going to win this war, and if you think you can threaten us, you are badly mistaken." Atvar warned. Deep down, however, he wasn't as sure as he was when the conquest began.

"Your obstinacy will get you nothing, and your men will pay a price for it." Gromyko warned. "We are far more advanced than your probe led us to believe and your men too few and too primitive to successfully hold us down, even if, by some miracle, you conquer all our territory. Negotiate a cease-fire and we can set some land aside for you."

Negotiate with Big Uglies? Atvar trembled in anger at the thought and at Gromyko's arrogance. "We will not surrender to your whims, Tosevite." He hissed at him. "As you came into power by murdering your emperor, be grateful we have not reduced your not-empire to radioactive ruin." That was bluff; the Race did not have anywhere near the number of explosive-metal bombs for that, as tempting as the action was. However, the Tosevites did not know their supply... or so he devoutly hoped.

"The destruction would be mutual." Gromyko warned, but his annoyance subsided. "Is there anything else we wish to discuss?"

"If you refuse to give in, it will only be harder for your not-empire." Atvar gave his final words. Gromyko got to his feet, he and his interpreter walking out.

The other meetings went the same way. Even not-empires close to being conquered, like France and Germany, refused to stop fighting and accept the emperor's sovereignty. Atvar warned dearly to bite them. They had lost 1.3 million males so far, with hundreds of thousands of wounded in tents at any given time. If not for their excellent medical care, the conquest would be even more difficult.

"The negotiations did not go as we hoped, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel hissed by his side.

"How, by the emperor, could they be putting up such a formidable resistance?" Atvar sighed.

"Little land of the USSR is suitable for our colonists due to its weather, exalted fleetlord." Kirel suggested. "We could do as you threatened and wipe them out."

"No, we cannot." Atvar made the negative hand gesture. "Even if we did, our males would be on the receiving end. The Big Uglies have a term for this: Mutually Assured Destruction. We still do not know how many weapons they have remaining, and the other not-empires would likely join in." It was now all but certain that they would lose significant ground during the winter of Tosev 3. Much of their industry was in ruins, but the Race's production facilities were all but nil.

"Then perhaps we can implement the suggestion you were given earlier." Kirel pointed out, staying subordinate.

"Yes... perhaps that is the thing to do." Atvar nodded. "You mean the skelkwank batteries, correct?" Kirel made the affirmative hand gestures. "This does seem to be Straha's time for being right. He seems to understand the Big Uglies better than most. How many do we have in our possession?"

Kirel ran the computer check. "We have 25 batteries ready and operational, Exalted Fleetlord."

"Too few and untested in combat." Atvar sighed. The 37th Emperor Risson had come into power just half a year before the fleet left for Tosev 3 and ordered the prototypes to be shipped with them. The weapons were promising in their tests and were expected to be implemented within 200 years. Instead, the emperor ordered them to be used ahead of schedule.

"Exalted Fleetlord, the Big Uglies have launched another attack on our bases!" Pshing exclaimed in horror. From his tone, Atvar surmised that it involved explosive-metal bombs. "They've launched two missiles from their boats, and will reach their destination in one day-hundredth."

"That gives us little time; do everything possible to shoot them down." Atvar ordered, but knew his males were already doing so. He prayed to the emperor that they were eliminated before thousands of lives were lost. From the trajectory, the missiles were aimed at bases in North Africa, which the Race had conquered but not yet pacified. He saw the missiles on the screen and prayed they would be shot down.

The first of the missiles were intercepted before it could be armed. Atvar let out a deep breath of relief. The second missile followed a couple of minutes later. "Thank the emperor they were destroyed." Atvar hissed. "Their boats are almost impossible to shoot down and it makes it difficult to identify which not-empire fired explosive-metal bombs at us."

"Exalted Fleetlord..." Kirel pointed at the holoscreen. Atvar spotted a couple of small objects still in the air. At first, he thought they were large pieces of debris from the explosion. Only too late did he realize that they were separate warheads. "Three explosive-metal bombs on a single missile? Impossible!" And yet the impossible was happening. Both bombs hit their base in eastern Algeria, well away from any major cities, but a few Big Uglies were still within the range of fallout.

"Thousands died; dozens of killercraft destroyed, and we don't even know who was responsible!" Atvar screamed. The stress of the conquest was beginning to rattle him. It seemed to be nothing more than one disaster after another. "Find a Big Ugly fleet; we will have our vengeance!'

"There is a fleet in what the natives call the Indian Ocean; two of them are the ones that carry their killercraft." Kirel informed.

"Yes, that would make a suitable target; teach them that we will not be slaughtered with impunity." Atvar snapped. Now he began to see the merit of the Skelkwank defenses. _Perhaps we have a chance at a successful conquest after all, maybe our only chance _He thought. Based on what he saw, the batteries would be able to repel numerous such attacks. "Begin their installation, and do so as quickly as possible so that such disasters will not happen to us again.

"It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel bowed.

XXXXXXXXX

That'll certainly complicate things. If we could just nuke the Race into oblivion, it wouldn't be a very interesting story.

In case anyone is wondering why I switched the homeworlds of the Rabotevs and Halessi, the Epsilon Eridani and Epsilon Indi are barely a billion years old, too young to develop complex life, so I changed them to what you saw earlier in the text.


	13. Chapter 13

I've had a couple of questions about why we don't simply nuke the lizards into oblivion. For one thing, we'd mostly be dropping nuclear weapons on our own territory, something that we'd like to avoid as much as possible. Secondly, we don't know how many weapons the aliens have and how strongly they could respond in kind. That being said, there are some commanders in both the United States and Soviet Union that are pushing to do so and they'll only grow more influential as the war drags on.

XXXXXXXXXX

January 3, 1983:

Barzini was feeling restless, something he had grown accustomed to during his time as a prisoner of the Race. He simply sat in his cell most of the key once his injuries began to heal. He still walked with a limp and his shoulder was still in a lot of pain, but was in far better condition than when he first arrived.

_They aren't quite what I expected, either. _He had heard countless horror stories of what the lizards did to people they captured or cities they occupied. Barzini was smart enough not to believe everything he heard, but had seen too many atrocities, both before and during their invasion, to dismiss them out of hand.

The food was plain and boring, but there was plenty of it. To a man who had spent the last few years on a near-starvation diet, it was wonderful. "Strange how aliens from another world treat us better than Saddam ever did." Barzini mouthed to himself. It was much better than he had expected. He knew better than to say that out loud, however. There were many Iraqi soldiers with him and while many fought for Iraq, not its leader, some in there were still among his supporters. He stayed quiet.

"Always goes to show you learn things your entire life." Reuven spoke. He couldn't hear Barzini, but read him well enough to know what he was thinking. His original wound had healed, but there was a new scar along his upper leg. The instant Barzini eyed it, he explained: "Someone in here tried to kill me; a rather sloppy attempt, really." From his tone, he might as well have been talking about the weather, chilling Barzini slightly.

"Nice work," Barzini responded, more out of something to say than actual interest. The lizards made no distinction between Iraqi, Iranian, and Kurdish prisoner, putting them all in the same spot. Fights had broken out multiple times, with hundreds of injuries and dozens of deaths. The lizards made a half-hearted attempt to prevent them, but otherwise let the prisoners kill one another. The more infighting they saw, the bigger their advantage grew.

He tried to remember that, however much he wanted to join in on the action. _Not until the war is over; then we can take vengeance. _What made it almost irresistible was that Saddam's army was still much stronger than the Peshmerga, even with their new weapons supplies. Once the war resumed, they were likely to be on the losing side. Iran mostly used them as a tool, but had little love for Kurds as well.

"It's necessary, nothing more." Reuven shrugged.

"Thank Allah I'm not in your position." For some, Barzini would worry about saying that out loud, but not with him. He was a foreigner, albeit one that forced him to change some of his thinking. He was brave, did his duty without complaint and did his best to keep his comrades alive, even when they didn't like him much.

"Being the only Jew in this place does have certain disadvantages." Reuven admitted. "I'm used to sleeping with one eye open, though." He spent most of his time with the Kurds, whom while they didn't like him, were much less likely to attempt an assassination. At the least, they considered his advice to be a useful tool for if they ever got out of this place.

He gave his usual prayers for the day, trying to follow Allah's will as closely as he could. Barzini sometimes did not have the opportunity, something that would have horrified a truly devout Muslim, but he didn't follow the Koran as closely as he did before the war, though he promised to Allah that he would resume in peacetime.

It was lunchtime and he readied himself for a possible fight. Barzini looked carefully at his Iranian and especially his Iraqi counterparts, promising to himself that he would not be taken by surprise. So far, he had not been involved and he intended to keep it that way. Appearing as dangerous as he could helped deter attacks, but inwardly, he wanted to scream at everyone.

"The lizards just love this, don't they/" Reuven chuckled as they began to line up for their meal. "Of course, we're always just a pack of barbarians to them, and this only proves it to them." What barbarians meant came through context to Barzini.

Mealtime was when most of the fights had broken out. Lizards stood against the wall, rifles ready in case of any trouble. They only intervened in major scuffles, but everyone who had attempted to kill them in the confusion ended up dead for his trouble. Barzini looked for a way to take them down. He wouldn't mind dying as much if he could take a couple lizards with him, but he saw no way to do it as of yet.

"Think you could send a couple lizards to the afterlife?" He whispered to Reuven.

"Perhaps at some point, but not now." Reuven responded, pretending not to notice many of the prisoners staring at him. While he was still despised, the fact he had killed everyone who attempted to assassinate him meant that he had also earned respect, however grudging. "See how they stay around this room, where each group can cover the other? And they keep us more than eight meters away at all times? They're not stupid, whatever else you can say of them."

Barzini received his daily food, still watching in every direction. If an confrontation was going to happen, this would be the moment. Usually, the Kurds, Iranians, and Iraqis stayed in their own groups, not speaking with one another. On meal time, however, they were forced together, and fights were frequent. In his pocket, he had carved a small knife from a long, sharpened stone with a cloth handle on it. Anyone who attacked him would regret it.

This time, however, Allah apparently decided to spare them. There was much grumbling between sides, insults thrown at one another, even rude finger gestures, but nobody started fighting. No food was thrown; no individual from a poor country would waste such a precious commodity. Barzini was far from the only one carrying an improvised weapon; Reuven even had a metal switchblade that he smuggled in from the outside.

The lizards used human guards to do some of the more mundane work in running a prison that they believed was beneath their superior status. Many of them were working for the resistance and others could be bribed to allow weapons in. No guns or explosives; that the lizards did themselves, but apparently knives were considered beneath their notice. Barzini considered it an unacceptable slip, but was grateful they overlooked.

"I don't think its stupidity; machines only get you so far and they don't have enough manpower to do everything they need." Reuven explained. "Most of their males are on the front lines or in supply duties; they simply don't have enough to do the job. They're trying to take over an entire planet... half a planet right now, at least. That's billions of people and millions of soldiers they're being forced to fight." He never thought of it like that. Barzini's thoughts seldom extended beyond Iraqi Kurdistan and the struggle for its freedom. Hearing an outside perspective was useful.

He ate every bit of his meal, even if it was not native food. Barzini knew that once he escaped or was exchanged, his rations would be greatly diminished, so he gained as much weight as he could manage. He even grabbed a small piece of food that fell under the table that nobody else saw.

Once that was over, however, there was little to do, unless he was called in for questioning. Barzini kept his mind for the most part, even with their truth drugs. He spoke freely about what he could get away with, but he knew little of the overall strategy and those of his comrades who were not already dead were sensible enough to scatter and regroup, so there was no danger there.

"How are we going to get out of here?" Barzini sighed, feeling restless. He had nothing to do when on his bunk; he did not even have a copy of the Koran to read. The aliens saw no value in the book and did not include, which came close to torture for some of the more devout inmates.

"I've got a few plans." Reuven admitted. "The problem is that none of them can work, not unless the lizards guarding us are exceptionally foolish and even then, it's a dubious proposition."

"Wonderful; we're stuck here." He was so unhappy, he came close to using the name of Allah in vein.

"Cheer up; we're at least safe here and we're being fed at their expense." Reuven looked at the bright side. "I sympathize with you, but a part of me is glad to be out of combat, even if it is an un-patriotic thing to say."

"There are benefits, but I am useless to the Pershmerga trapped in here." Barzini sighed, realizing that he could be stuck here as long as the war lasted. At the very least, the three groups could work together against a great enemy; that they often couldn't was a symbol as to how deep the hatred went.

"How much of their language do you know?" Reuven inquired.

"A little, mostly their orders." Barzini replied. "Do you think... I could learn it?"

"It's difficult, but not impossible." Reuven instructed. "I picked up some of it from prisoners, from linguists, and what I've learned on my own. You'd be amazed how freely they speak, confident that none of them will understand them. I haven't heard any of them speak in code, even."

"So what have you learned?" Barzini knew he sounded eager, but couldn't help it. Other began to listen in, as they were the ones who respected Reuven the most.

"Not as much as I'd like." Reuven sighed. "A lot of it is still guesswork, but it looks like the war is going favorably for us. Every day, I hear complaints about how many deaths they have suffered, about territory being lost, about endless attacks in areas they control. I cannot be 100% sure on this, but based on admittedly limited information, the overall war is going well."

There were quiet cheers when others heard the news, and louder ones as the news traveled throughout the bunk. The more enthusiastic ones were quickly silenced by the experienced fighters. "I've got a bit of information of my own, Jew." One of them approached and whispered. He used the term to identify, not to scorn. Fortunately for him, Reuven realized as much.

"Go ahead, I'm listening." He responded with mild interest. Barzini heard a few rumors, but nothing more than that. Hope and fear warred within him. In Reuven as well, though he did a much better job at hiding it.

By the time Reuven explained at least what he was willing to disclose, Barzini was beginning to feel hopeful. Those within earshot had their morale increased as well, although all of them knew that the plan carried a great deal of risk. _Still, anything's better than being stuck in this place. _

The only difficulty was that it was likely to take weeks, if not months, and it counted on the lizards' human assistants being either apathetic, working alongside them, or impossibly incompetent. For all its downsides, however, it was at least a plan of action and it gave Barzini a reason to continue the struggle. "You sure you can pull something like this off?" He felt he had to ask Reuven.

"We have a reasonable probability of success, but in all honesty, who knows?" Reuven shrugged. "First rule of warfare is that things go wrong."

"Then why did you tell them this?" Barzini demanded.

"Simple: they needed a message of hope... and we have a chance of pulling this off." Reuven shrugged, not feeling in the least guilty. "I have more details to plan out, so until I do, feel free to gorge yourself at the lizards' expense." Barzini was still not in the least bit fat, but there was some meat for the first time in years, and he was now unable to count his ribs.

As he was left to himself, however, he wondered just how feasible this really was. Not that he objected; after his family was killed, Barzini no longer feared death. He simply didn't want to get killed without accomplishing anything. The lizards looked suspiciously at him, ready to shoot if he gave them the least bit of trouble. He had no intention of doing so... not yet, at least.

That night, as most other prisoners were sound asleep, Barzini stayed awake still going through the possible ideas that Reuven had explained. It relied on outside support, quite a bit of it, being that prisoner exchanges were unlikely. He tried to come up with independent plans, but nothing he could muster up were workable in any realistic scenario.

Loud crashed interrupted his thoughts. It took him a few moments to realize that the prison camp was being shelled. _This can't be the plan! Can it? _He sat up so quickly he bashed his head on one of the upper bunks. Groaning in pain, he got to his feet, his brain scrambling to figure out what to do. This had opportunity, but the artillery could just as easily kill him as it could grant him his freedom.

Most of his fellow prisoners were awake, although not particularly alert. They paid dearly for it when an artillery shell crashed directly onto the room, blowing a massive hole in the wall. Close to a dozen were killed, with over twice as many wounded.

Few stayed behind to help their comrades, however. Most of them rushed out, seeing a chance at freedom, Barzini among them. He felt a twinge of conscience, but they would never have a better chance to flee. He moved as fast as he could, taking advantage of his temporarily improved diet.

The lizards were alert, though, and did everything possible to stop them. Some simply shot them down, while others were more merciful and merely held them at gunpoint and escorted them back to their cells. Even then, however, hundreds of people were making a break for it, with the lizards being unable to pursue unless they wanted to weaken the security of the camp further.

"Praise Allah..." Barzini muttered, taking a deep breath. His lungs had atrophied during his confinement, though he would readjust after being out in the field once more. He decided to head towards his rescuers, wanting to rejoin a guerilla band as soon as possible; he'd do little for the war effort on his own.

Barzini wondered if Reuven made it out or if he was still stuck inside. Likely the latter; the Mossad agent was extremely resourceful. He cautiously approached one of the individuals opening fire on the camp, who were in the process of throwing the mortars aside and retreating. "I'm right here!" He decided to speak in order to inform them that he was human and not a lizard; friendly fire incidents were all too common.

The man turned around and opened fire, shooting Barzini twice in the chest. The last thought in his mind was shock... _What? Why couldn't... _Those were his last coherent thoughts.

XXXXXXXXXX

January 5, 1983:

Betvoss was among the last to retreat. It wasn't the first time his battalion had been forced to, but he never thought such primitive Big Uglies would actually force them to retreat.

What he didn't realize until now was just how numbers could really matter in battle. Yes, the Race killed many more Tosevites than they lost, but it mattered not at all. This not-empire had over a billion Tosevites and would not miss several thousand. They saw it as an acceptable cost for victory.

Betvoss spotted burning landcruisers and troopcarriers; few escaped the vehicles once they had been hit. Although the Chinese had few landcruisers of their own, they were able to obtain weapons that were able to harm them regardless. Mines, rockets, even the occasional killercraft... all of them posed a major hazard.

The last of the Race's troops were out of Shiyan by nightfall, retreating to Xiangyang. They could only hold the major cities when things were going well, but the smaller towns and the countryside were completely out of Race control. Periodic sweeps for weapons and rebels seldom got them anything; no natives would cooperate with them, knowing that they could not be protected from reprisals.

"How did this happen, by the Emperor?" Premas complained, lowering his eye turrets. "We had the Big Uglies cornered, and yet we lost!" A piece of shrapnel had cut one of Premas' fingerclaws, but at the moment, he did not even seem to notice the injury.

"Truth," Some of his fellow males agreed. Morale was beginning to take a dive. They won most battles, yes, but they were a long way from winning the power. Even the weaker not-empires on Tosev 3 could not be conquered successfully.

"We can still beat them; we are beating them!" A dissenter claimed. "Much of their not-empire is now in our control and through we may have been temporarily forced back, we will return and we will be victorious!" Some males agreed, but not as many at Betvoss was hoping for. He personally hoped that he was the only one who was gloomy, who was exhausted by a conquest seemingly without end, and it had lasted just slightly over a year.

"It's not just that." Votal responded, much more quietly than Premas. "Many males have disappeared from the base, disciplined as ginger-tasters. More than I ever previously believed possible."

That had a role to play in it as well. Ginger, unfortunately, made a Male of the Race feel like they were invincible and victory was inevitable. Too many of them ended up dead by the Big Uglies' hands, especially those that could not control their addiction. Others were arrested and punished, weakening their fortifications further. More disappeared every day, but those who remained kept right on tasting regardless.

_Thank the Emperor I did not become one of them, _Betvoss thought. He had been offered ginger numerous times but always refused. Some were just males willing to share their drug; others were dealers attempting to get him addicted in order to make more money. There were occasions that he thought about doing so, but after seeing what it did to so many of his companions, he promised the spirits of Emperors Past that he would never use it.

He hoped his superiors would know what to do about it, because Betvoss certainly didn't. Many were quiet, still musing over their defeat. They were not completely driven to distraction- all of them were still ready at a moment's notice should the Big Uglies attempt another raid in Xiangyang, but there was little idle chatter. Those who tasted ginger were currently doing so.

"I wonder what our next orders are going to be." Betvoss mused. Would they be ordered to retake Shiyan or launch an offensive somewhere else in hoped of taking the Big Uglies by surprise. Explosions were heard in the distance, making him very grateful that he wasn't one of the poor males currently on patrol. He would be before too long, but tried to enjoy the respite.

With nothing else to do, he decided to head into his room and re-applied his body paint. Betvoss made sure that each line, each color, was exactly what it was supposed to be. It was meant not only to signify rank, but as a work of art. On Home, there were males who would spend half a day on their body paint in order to make it absolutely perfect. Betvoss did not have the luxury of doing so, but it made him feel like he was still a part of something, part of the Race.

_Will I even be fit for society when this is over? _Betvoss was a very different male than the one who had gone into cold sleep, ready to bring a fourth planet into the Empire. He was supposed to respect his superiors, and they would show him obligation in return. They were criticized, yes, but to a much lesser degree than the Big Uglies. _Of course, their leaders are also far more irresponsible. _

He checked his body paint one last time, mostly convincing himself that he was still a part of the Race despite his growing distance from what it was supposed to represent. Another bomb startled him, but Betvoss knew that it was in the distance. Even Xiangyang had only a relatively small garrison of about 12,000 males. They were outnumbered over 100 to one by the Big Uglies.

Not wanting to be alone, he decided to rejoin the rest of his comrades. Chatter was slowly picking up, but there were only murmurs. Betvoss ate a local dish that he had come to like, although he wasn't sure what it was called. Premas and Votal were looking at a hologram of Home, to remind them of what they were fighting for.

"Hey, friend, I've got something you'll be very interested in." A male walked up to him, his body paint unkempt and a lustful grin on his face. His left arm was in a pocket- even inside the base, the Race often wore clothes during the local winter- full of what he was sure was ginger. "Something to cheer you up."

"I'm not interested; get lost!" Betvoss snapped at him angrily, getting very tired of the constant ginger offers. He wondered if the Big Uglies had to go through the same thing with their own substances; he doubted it.

The other male thought it through, then scattered. Betvoss was very tempted to report him to his superiors, but what was the point? There were many more like him, and the base was shorthanded enough without inspectors taking more Males of the Race away for punishment. On Home, he would have informed the authorities immediately, but circumstances were different on Tosev 3.

"They hardly seem like males of the Race at all, do they?" Votal remarked, apparently hearing the whole conversation.

"It seems not, superior sir." Betvoss hissed. "Do you want me to report him?"

"Yes, if I thought the base could hold its own without him." Votal sighed, making the negative hand gesture. "I am glad you chose not to take him up on his offer, Betvoss. The Race has enough ginger addicts as it is."

"Truth; I have seen too much evidence of its effects to want the drug for myself." Betvoss agreed.

"Am I missing something?" Premas asked. Unlike Votal, he had not been paying attention to the conversation. "Is there any news on what the Big Uglies are going to do next?"

Mortar shells being launched in their direction answered his question. Like most males, Betvoss carried his weapon and ammunition with them; it was once against regulations, but the commanders realized that it only left them more vulnerable. In India, once such base was overwhelmed with all its males killed or captured, and they were anxious to keep such events from occurring again.

They spread out as best they could inside the confined building. Mortar shells were unlikely to penetrate the concrete and steel, but none of them wanted to take unnecessary chances. "I hope we can hunt them down before they do any further damage." Betvoss declared. Unlike missiles, there was next to nothing they could do to intercept mortars.

"Fortunately, we are not outside at the present time." Premas added, although he still worried about the males who were. Mortar shells didn't cause many casualties, but all of them hated the term "Light casualties". It was true unless you became one of them, in which case "light" suddenly became "heavy".

"We will be; we need to hunt those Big Uglies down and make an example out of them." Betvoss announced, but it was more than likely that they would simply flee, leaving the mortars behind; the weapons were easily replaceable.

This was not an ordinary raid, however. Betvoss heard killercraft flying above them and it took a few moments to realize that they did not belong to the Race. Even in China, they had some left in their possession. Both were shot down, but not before they delivered their deadly payload. Even one of the wrecks crashed into a barracks, turning it into rubble; only their efforts at fire resistance kept it from turning into an inferno.

Some of the males were gasping outside, even though there was no visible smoke or explosions. A green light began to blare inside of the base, meaning only one thing: gas. Of all the vicious inventions of the Big Uglies, Betvoss hated gas the most, even more than explosive-metal bombs. They didn't have anything like the level of protective gear they needed, and ordinary clothing gave almost no protection against nerve gases.

Their medics, however, did, and rushed outside to assist and save as many males as possible. As a whole, Race medicine was far better than its Tosevite equivalent, but they had to borrow and steal the cure for nerve gases from them. Betvoss and the others looked almost physically sick as they saw the victims. At a moment's glance, he could tell that some of them were not going to make it, not including the bodies that were already surrounding the area.

"By the emperor... how could this have happened?" Votal asked, almost in shock. Nerve gas attacks had become a part of Tosevite resistance, but they were usually small in scale, a few to a couple dozen kilos dropped on them, often killing more Big Uglies than Race infantrymales. This time, however, close to five tons were dropped on them.

"I pray that I will never see such a thing again." Betvoss shivered, even if males of the Race technically couldn't do so. Even worse than the dead were the gruesomely injured; horrifying as the dead were, they were at least with the Spirits of Emperors Past and beyond suffering. For some living members, the pain would never end.

The males in the barracks where the plane crashed almost all perished from the remaining Sarin gas stored onto the killercraft. So far, the total was close to 150 males, about 1.5% of the garrison in the city, and many of those who survived would not be fit for duty for a long time.

For once, Betvoss wished that he had developed a ginger addiction; that way, he wouldn't have to think about what had just transpired. The feeling passed, but his horror still burned strong. "By the Emperor, there will be a reckoning for this!" He exclaimed.

"We should slaughter every Big Ugly in this city for this atrocity!" A male exclaimed, and more than a few were agreeing with him. As the initial shock wore off, so would the bloodlust... but perhaps not too. The war had changed some males for the worse, making them much more eager to shoot Big Uglies, even those who were surrendering. There were strict punishments for such things, but in China, they were rarely enforced. Those the Chinese captured often met gruesome ends as well.

Betvoss felt the desire for revenge as well. When his battalion was called at to patrol again, a part of him was almost looking forward to it. _Try and kill me; just give me an excuse. _He thought. He fought the desire to simply massacre them in the streets, as such an action would likely only lead to more resistance, but the temptation was there nonetheless.

XXXXXXXXXX

January 7, 1983:

"Victory! Victory! Victory!" Everyone in the street was cheering. The counterattack had been over for four days, but those that remained were still in a mood to celebrate.

Melanie did not know just how many lizards that the Americans and her allies had captured, but a seemingly endless stream of them were being marched down the street, many of them frightened and filthy. They looked much less formidable from here. Few of them even came up to her chest and without weapons, were little threat.

"Interesting display we have," Thomas said mildly. "Even this is only a small fraction of them, however." Some members in the crowd screamed abuse at them, throwing rotten vegetable and rocks in their direction. No one had been crazy enough to shoot at them just yet, as they were being protected by an equal number of armed guards, but the desire for revenge was strong.

Someone walked up and kissed Melanie on the lips in celebration, lifting her off her feet. The first time that happened, she'd been in shock, but she'd grown to endure it. Hell, on the second day of the celebrations, she did it herself. It reminded her greatly of the V-E celebrations in Times Square at the end of World War II.

"Wonder what we're going to do with them..." Katherine mused.

"Letting them starve isn't the worst idea I've heard," Melanie gave an evil grin. During the attack, a couple soldiers had to practically hold her down to keep her from shooting a group of prisoners where they stood. She had still not heard news about her parents, but as their location was hit with two nuclear weapons, she and her brother both feared the worst.

"Be nice if we still had a home, though." Thomas sighed, his jubilation beginning to fade. Their apartment had been destroyed in the fighting, along with much of Cleveland. They may have surrounded the city and forced the lizards to surrender, but it came with a very high cost. The true number of dead might never be known, but Cleveland was the site of some of the heaviest fighting, with close to 150,000 Allied soldiers dead along with 1/3 as many civilians. Melanie thanked God that she, Thomas, and Katherine had not had to fight under such conditions.

"We're still alive; that's something at least." Melanie commented. She felt herself being hugged from behind yet again, but this time, it was different. He looked familiar.

"Mark, what the hell are you doing here?" Thomas asked in shock. A couple days after the lizards arrived, he disappeared without notice and they had seen no trace of him since.

"Here and there; can't believe you guys are still alive." Mark chuckled, but sobered up quickly. "Tara wasn't so lucky; her apartment took a direct."

"God, I'm sorry about that." Thomas replied. "I know you two were even talking about getting married." Melanie observed that while her brother still didn't like him, he had decided that there were more important things than his grudge.

"So what next?" Katherine asked. "Do we stay with the army or try to rebuild our lives here?"

"I expect we'll be fighting until the war's over." Thomas stated. "As terrified as I might be, I have a feeling that I need to keep going, that I can't just quit and let everyone down. There's no home to go back to, anyway, and I don't want to live in a refugee camp."

Refugee... Melanie never thought she'd ever hear that word apply to the United States of America. Men, women, and children who were now homeless, surviving on a meager portion of food and sometimes dirty water. There were countless others all throughout Ohio, both in the Northern portion that the Allies controlled and the southern one that still belonged to the lizards.

"Neither do I; I've seen the conditions there." Katherine shuddered. Both the government and private citizens were doing everything they could for them, but it was limited, as most of the resources were going towards the war effort. As Martial Law was declared, they were at least relatively safe. When people were caught attacking or taking advantage of them, they were shot without trial.

"I'll come along with you; some of my experience should prove useful." Mark declared. Melanie wondered: just what had he done when he disappeared? He spent a couple weeks in Boot Camp years ago before being thrown out, but she doubted that gave him enough experience to do a lot on his own.

"We're in for the duration, anyway." Melanie reminded. Once the parade was over, the four of them went back to the campsite. It wasn't that much better than a refugee camp, but they had priority over food and equipment. Each of them took regular showers and kept themselves as clean as they do in order to minimize infection. She never realized what how important simple things like bathing, toilet paper, and even hygiene products were until she found herself without them for an extended period of time.

Most of the assembled men and women were watching the latest propaganda videos. Destroyed starships in the United States, mass numbers of prisoners being escorted through the streets of ruined cities, celebrations in Britain, France, Canada, and what remained of West Germany. Throughout the montage of wrecked lizard equipment, Melanie noticed that next to nothing was said about how the effort was going in the Soviet Union. Only natural, since the Cold War was still active, even if the superpowers were cooperating with each other for now.

None of them even had their own cots, forcing them to sit and often even sleep on the floor. Had Melanie just arrived here after the comforts of home, it would have been completely unbearable. Now, though, it wasn't much of a problem. "Amazing what you get used to," Thomas chuckled.

They listened to a couple of Canadian soldier converse next to them. Unlike Melanie and the others, they had cots. "Can't believe we actually lived through that; you'd think aliens would have been more advanced." One of them said.

"I just hope that when we beat them, the Americans won't end up taking all the credit for this." The second replied. "I'm quite sure that's coming; give it ten years at the most and they'll claim they won the war by themselves."

"That gets rather tiring, them thinking we're all a bunch of arrogant assholes." Katherine sighed. Melanie agreed; it wasn't the first time they heard comments like that.

"Well, what can you do?" Mark shrugged. "As long as we're winning the war, they can say whatever they please."

"I'm just worried about what the lizards are going to do now that they've figured out we're not pushovers." Thomas sighed. "I hate to ignore the optimism, but people are acting like the whole war's already over. They've suffered a major setback, but they haven't been beaten."

"Do you always have to be so negative?" Melanie groaned, slapping her forehead. "Things are looking up, and you still think it's the end of the world."

"I bet they've still got a lot of nuclear weapons they can use on us." Thomas retorted. "Now that we're pushing them back, they'll likely escalate this war; we can't shoot them all down. They've come twelve light years and after traveling such a distance, they're not going to leave at the first pinprick. The European powers and our settlers didn't pack it up and go home because they encounter resistance."

"Will you shut the fuck up?" Katherine snapped. "Quit bringing everyone's mood down!"

"Yes, just keep quiet for once." Mark rolled his eyes. "I know it's not over, but can't you at least be cheerful over a victory?" Thomas shut up, still glowering at them.

"Do they have anything to eat here besides rations?" Katherine wondered.

"They have some restaurants still in business, but it costs three times what it used to." Melanie informed. She had gone a couple times in spite of that. There was nothing else to do with her money and eating the same thing day after day got extremely tiresome after a while.

"May as well; there's nothing else to do." Mark agreed. "Do you want to come along?" He asked Thomas.

"All right, I'm getting a little tired of rations too." Thomas admitted, pushing himself to his feet. All of them put their weapons on the gun rack, except for their pistols, which they kept with them. Martial Law or not, Melanie didn't feel entirely safe walking around Cleveland without some sort of protection, not since she was a small child.

The diner they arrived to had no windows, only boards, but it was mostly a hospitable place just the same. None of them talked much, focusing on what was now a rare treat; one more thing that they took for granted before the invasion. A loud noise startled them, but it was only fireworks.

"Thank god; for a second, I thought we were being shelled again." Mark let out a deep breath of relief.

"Yeah, I think we've gone off the deep end." Melanie chuckled to relieve the tension.

"Hey, it looks like they're broadcasting a speech." Katherine pointed to the television.

"You'd think they'd run out of words to say by now..." Thomas murmured. "It's the same thing over and over again."

On the screen, Ronald Reagan, Yuri Andropov, Margaret Thatcher, Francois Mitterrand, Indira Gandhi, and Hu Yaobang. The Secretary General of NATO Joseph Luns was the one giving the speech on the podium. Behind him were the national flags of the major powers, one of which had nothing but the planet Earth, symbolizing how humanity had come together to fight their common enemy.

"Seven months ago, the Race came to our world." He began. "We offered peace, a chance to learn from one another. We believed that learning that we are not alone in this galaxy would open up many new opportunities. Instead they decided to subjugate us in an attempt to make us our servants; their response to our olive branch was a nuclear assault on our cities, killing countless innocent people.

"But we are resilient, we are strong, and we have proven ourselves capable of achieving victory. They believed that we would cower before their might, submit to their aggression; the Race was wrong. All throughout the world, the Race is in retreat. They are not invincible, and they can be resisted.

"This victory was not brought about by one nation alone, but by our people as a whole, whether they be American, Soviet, European, or any other people of our diverse world. This invasion has reminded us of our shared humanity, a lesson we must remember even after this war has concluded.

"But let us not forget that our victory has come at a high price. Many good men are dead because of their unprovoked aggression, and we must not forget those of us who give everything to protect Earth, to protect our nations, to send a message to the Race that we will not fall. Our courage and determination will see us through this planet's greatest crisis.

"To those of you who fight on, we ask you not to waiver from your course. We have won a battle, but the war is far from over. Your home, your country, and your species ask much of you in order to resist the invaders, but we cannot give in, no matter what methods they use in order to terrify us. We did not ask for this conflict, but we have it nonetheless, and we will not stop until our triumph is complete.

"To those who are currently under occupation: do not cooperate with the enemy in any way. Do not give them information on our soldiers, do not work in their factories, do not work in their prison camps. Sabotage them wherever you can, hit them from all directions. With your help, they will concede that Earth cannot be conquered and go back to their homes."

"To any Race personnel: your conquest of Earth is futile. You cannot terrify us into submission, you cannot hold our territory, nor can you convince us to simply lay down our arms and join your empire. Coexistence between our two peoples would benefit us both, and once again, we offer this opportunity to you. It would be most unwise to continue on your current course."

XXXXXXXXXX

January 8, 1983:

_The fleetlord isn't going to like this, _Ttomalss thought as he complied his analysis of the situation on Tosev 3, but he felt that he was duty-bound to give his superiors the truth, not just what they wanted to hear.

Unfortunately, they did not have the resources to study the Tosevites as extensively as he would have wanted. One bit of information researchers quickly figured out was that they were very different than the previous two subject races, the Rabotevs and Halessi. They were larger, they were more violent, and they advanced technologically at a much greater pace than any other species they encountered.

Among the most important information was that the Tosevites grouped themselves into families (A term the Race had to borrow in the Tosevite language) and raised their hatchlings into adulthood, instead of a communal structure. Nobody knew for sure why that was, as they had so little opportunity to run experiments. Ttomalss had acquired a couple of child-rearing books from the surface and from what he could translate from them, one hypothesis was that their hatchlings were completely helpless and would die without protection from their parents.

They were extraordinarily protective of their hatchlings even after they reached maturity, something Ttomalss had yet to figure out the cause for. "Given their perceived helplessness, it is understandable for the Tosevites to expend great effort in protecting their young." He began a recording of his research. "Not only are they unable to care for themselves, the female expends a great amount of energy birthing the hatchling"- a method of birth Ttomalss found repulsive, although it was not unheard of among creatures of Home- "putting herself at great risk to ensure its entry into the world."

He turned the recording off for a few moments in order to gather his thoughts. His next sentence was: "Under such circumstances, it is perhaps reasonable that they form such strong attachments to their hatchlings, to an extent any member of the Race would find alien. However, a continuing mystery is why this continues ever after the Tosevite reaches maturity and self-sufficiency. From our current evidence, it appears as if this bond lasts a lifetime, parent and hatchling both."

His current project was to see if he could turn the Tosevite's differing biology into a weapon for winning the war. Ginger had already become a major problem for the Race, even though it was nothing more than a spice for the natives. Ttomalss had spoken to a few prisoners, although how truthful they were when it came to interrogation was questionable. Their truth drug worked imperfectly, possibly because the Tosevites lied far more often than the Race.

Still, it was at least a foundation for further understanding. They would have the luxury of time and thoroughness had been completed (although Ttomalss doubted that it could be done, something he kept to himself). This bond was just as important to the Tosevites as bonds of friendship were to the Race. Parents who had lost their children and wives attacked males of the Race without mercy, often not caring whether or not they lived or died. Individuals who were willing, even eager, to die if they could take males with him were proving extremely difficult to stop.

"However... the fleetlord wants an answer about our chances for a successful conquest." Ttomalss stated, making sure the recorder was off before he spoke out loud. Just the fact that Atvar was asking them for an assessment spoke volumes about how the war was going.

The Tosevite counterattack had stopped and since the Race was not going to be able to advance on much of the planet due to its current climate, they were consolidating their position, repairing their vehicles, producing as much ammunition as was feasible at the present time. Ttomalss knew that the enemy was doing the same, preparing for the turn of the seasons.

_Approximately 4.5 billion tosevites on this planet, and perhaps 16.5 million males suitable for action right now. _Ttomalss mused as he wrote the first pages of his report. He was no strategist and there were other males of the Race that were far more suitable to developing strategy than he was. His job was to work on psychological warfare.

What he was finding, though, was that the Tosevites were not easy to intimidate. They had already used a significant portion of their explosive-metal stockpile attempting to do so, only to see it fail. It only increased their desire to fight on, despite the heavy losses they were taking. There were few natives who were working with the Race, and even they often cooperated with the Tosevite militaries.

The fact that so many males were lost was troubling, however. Many males were dead or captured, with hundreds of thousands recovering from wounds that they had received in the process. Their medicine was advanced and most returned to action within a couple year-tenths, but there was a constant flow of wounded males. Even that was ignoring all the males currently being punished for tasting ginger.

"One possible effort that would help us is protecting Tosevites enlightened enough to cooperate with us from reprisals." Ttomalss remarked, writing it on his report. "We have learned through painful experience to protect ourselves from their duplicity, but if we cannot protect our proxies, they will have little motivation to assist us."

They were even confident enough that they sent repeated messages to Race starships, offering peaceful coexistence. Atvar had not deigned to respond to any of them. A few thought the Tosevites were ready to surrender, but most felt otherwise. They were continuing to build their war machine, demanding to be treated as equals and to keep their independence. The Tosevite demands were unacceptable and thus the war would continue.

Once again, he stopped to gather his thoughts once again. Under normal circumstances, his report would undergo several revisions before being submitted, but they did not have the luxury of time. Ttomalss complied his report and his recommendations as quickly as he could reasonably allow. Bad information would be worse than none at all, but without a comprehensive study of the Tosevites, a lot of it was simply guesswork. Educated guesswork, but still guesswork.

However much he did not want to write his personal opinion, he was obligated to be honest. At the end of his report, he wrote that it was highly unlikely that the Race would be able to conquer Tosev 3 in the end. The natives were too advanced, too numerous, and too determined to resist. Even if they could conquer them, resistance efforts would continue, as they had in portions of the not-empires they had conquered. After a bit moment of indecision, he wrote the notes and sent it to the fleetlord.

XXXXXXXXXX

So what did you think? I was hoping to get the speech as accurate as possible to what our leaders would really say under similar circumstances, although obviously such speeches would be much longer.

FYI: I'm also in the planning stages of an alternate Colonization where Tosev 3 has been conquered in its entirety and about the continuing efforts to free ourselves, in addition to how we adjust to being servants of an interstellar power.


	14. Chapter 14

With your questions about the alternate colonization, I've gotten most of the first chapter done already, although I don't plan to start posting it for a few weeks yet.

XXXXXXXXXX

March 7, 1983:

Atvar paced around the starship, trying to decide what the right course of action was. He had personally gone over all the reports his researchers had given about how to complete the conquest. An underlying tone was that if would be extremely difficult, if not outright impossible, to fully conquer Tosev 3. Indeed, they had lost considerable ground during the local winter.

"What are we to do?" Atvar groaned. "Making ginger illegal has severely depleted our reserve of males, leaving too many crucial outposts poorly defended. Close to six hundred thousand males are undergoing punishment, and my subordinates have warned that plenty more are still tasting and successfully concealing it from us."

"Exalted Fleetlord, the reports from the herb indicate that it gives a taster a feeling that they are invincible." Kirel pointed. "If they are using ginger during combat, as seems likely given the reports, they are more likely to make mistakes and get other males killed. It may even cost us the entire battle."

"How, by the emperor, did this happen?" Atvar wondered; both lowered their eyes in ritual respect for their sovereign. "Drug use is not unheard of on Home, but we've never seen it spread so quickly and with such disregard to my orders. In spite of increasing punishments, it continues to spread through the ranks. I even smelled it on some high-ranking shiplords!" He could not catch them in the act, so they had gone unpunished, but it had been extremely tempting.

"We have interviewed ginger users currently in orbit, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel informed. "When asked about why they began to taste, they state that they use it as an escape from the stress of combat, to stop thinking about the fact that they could die at any time. Withdrawal from the herb is difficult as well; a few were so addicted that the shock to their bodies killed them."

"How long do you believe it will take them to detox and be fit for duty?" Atvar asked. Perhaps the situation could be at least partially salvaged.

"The physical addiction will fade in two to three tenths of a year." Kirel explained. "The psychological addiction will be much more difficult. If we send them back to the front lines, a significant number will continue to taste. We have imprisoned every dealer we can find, and executed any Tosevite who sells it to them, but it's still a major problem."

"Especially since the danger only continues to grow," Atvar mused. "At least thirty explosive-metal bombs have been used so far, and that number will continue to grow. With danger all around them, I do not think we will be able to keep our males from tasting."

"Then perhaps... perhaps we should modify the ban, or at least order the inspectors to only arrest those males whose tasting is endangering their fellow males." Kirel suggested.

"If we do that, they will continue to endanger the males around them, which we cannot allow." Atvar reminded. He gave some thought before speaking again. Neither choice was pleasant and would likely lead to disaster. Males would continue to taste ginger, further reducing the available manpower at the Race's disposal. If they stayed in action, they would likely get themselves and others killed.

"Additional interviews also confirm that to some, being punished for ginger is preferable to being on the front lines of the conquest." Kirel added. "Morale among our males continues to fall, Exalted Fleetlord."

"Then we may as well give all of them ginger to inspire their confidence." Atvar laughed bitterly. "If nothing else, it may keep their spirits up."

"Shall I draft the orders, Exalted Fleetlord?" Kirel wondered before realizing Atvar was being sarcastic. "The situation is difficult, but we are still making gains in India, with much of the not-empire under our control. Our control of southern China is still holding, and we still control major portions of the two strongest not-empires."

"Truth, but not satisfying truth." Atvar reminded. "And their soldiers' numbers grow by the day, while ours only shrinks. Who would have imagined an opponent so advanced or so determined?" He wondered how their success was so easy on Rabotev 2 and Halless 1. Both those conquests took only a quarter of a year, with casualties almost nonexistent, just as they expected Tosev 3 to be.

"No one, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel remarked. "Our scientists will spend centuries attempting to account for what makes the Tosevites so different than other species."

"Assuming of course they have the opportunity," Atvar sighed. "What do you think of their recommendations, Kirel?" He hoped his second in command would find some optimism, some hope where he had not. The Tosevites had begun to broadcast peace measures, indicating that they thought the war had already been won.

"Not all of them are in agreement, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel responded. "Some state that the conquest can still be done. However, even they warn of the horrifying price that our males will pay in the process, and there is the question of pacifying the planet, as it is unlikely the Big Uglies will simply stop fighting. Our experience in territory we have occupied suggests as much, at any rate."

"That's what I was afraid of." Atvar admitted. "So what are our options? Do we continue the struggle?"

"Do you mean to abandon the effort, Exalted Fleetlord?" Kirel inquired.

"I am beginning to think conquering Tosev 3 will be impossible without massive losses." Atvar chose his words carefully. If he abandoned the conquest, it was likely that the shiplords would not be willing to go along. There was a large segment griping about his handling of the war. "The main powers on the planet have almost completely transitioned to a wartime economy, something that has been my nightmare ever since we learned the truth of events on the ground. Tell me honestly, Kirel: do you think we can succeed?"

Kirel stayed silent for close to a minute before using the negative hand gesture. "I have gone over the conquest many times, and have reluctantly come to this conclusion. We would need twice as many males, perhaps three times as many to conquer and hold Tosev 3. The best scenario is to negotiate with the Tosevites and hold a certain amount of land for our colonists to settle on."

"That does raise some possibilities." Atvar agreed. "They consider the hottest areas of the planet to be too unpleasant, while we would find them quite comfortable. Even such a small portion would be enough for the colonization fleet. The question is whether or not they would honor such a deal." The Tosevites were tricky and deceitful, easily capable of out maneuvering the Race in diplomatic matters. They would also be growing technologically as time went on.

"Should we assemble the shiplords and break the news to them?"

That was the part Atvar was truly dreading. Getting them to listen to him would be no small feat. He hoped that enough of them had wisdom to see what he did. "Not just yet. First, we need to send the message, along with a message, and a warning to home. Sooner or later, the Tosevites will learn to travel between the stars, mostly likely within a few hundred years; we must be ready for it."

"Of course; that would be most wise, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel agreed. "Getting them to listen will be the most difficult part."

"Once we arrive, I will make sure that they do, no matter what it takes." Atvar promised. It was far too urgent for him to ignore. "The second is a suggestion to send a series of probes before each future conquest, perhaps one every hundred years. We have encountered the Tosevites, and they may not be the only species who advance quickly." They had found no other species within 60 light-years of home, but probes were being sent farther out to investigate the possibility. 300 stars had specific probes sent to them, rather than a generalized one.

"The possibility is frightening, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel admitted. "Let us hope that Home listens."

"Assemble the shiplords; no point in delaying this any longer." Atvar sighed. He was dreading giving this news, but that was nothing new on Tosev 3. He would go down in history as the first conqueror who failed in his duties, not the way he would have wanted to be remembered by future generations.

However, in spite of that, he still had a duty. Atvar believed that prolonging the war would only be a waste of lives, time, and equipment, and he had an obligation to look after them as best he could. True, he could continue in an effort to keep his name from being besmirched by historians, but he thought about the Race as a whole first.

Once all the shiplords had been assembled, Atvar cleared his throat and prepared himself as best he could. All of them knew that whatever news he was about to give was likely to be negative. "Assembled shiplords, one and a half years ago, we began the conquest of Tosev 3. The Tosevites' technology was far beyond what we had expected to face, and they have a much greater population in addition to their weaponry.

He took a deep sigh and forced himself to continue. "After careful consideration and recommendations from our researchers, I have reluctantly decided that this attempt at conquest is not worth the massive losses that are being inflicted on us. Our losses are only growing with time, while the Tosevite forces continue to gain strength. Therefore... with great reluctance, I am abandoning the effort to conquer Tosev 3."

For a considerable period of time, there was nothing but silence. The shiplords looked at each other and at Atvar as they took in his words. The longer it went on, the more worried Atvar became. Would they listen or not? None of them knew quite what to say in response.

"Have you lost your mind?" Straha declared. Atvar hissed; it figured his rival would be the first to speak up." We are winning this war! We are still winning! All we require for victory is more aggressive measures... Exalted Fleetlord."

"We have lost countless males in the effort, and we are struggling to pacify even what we occupy, let alone advancing all across the planet." Atvar reminded. "Even fighting the Northern Hemisphere alone, we are overextended. Reinforcements will not be forthcoming, and we cannot take the planet with our current strength."

"Truth, I have seen that for myself." One of the shiplords agreed. Atvar was grateful that at least someone was supporting him in an unprecedented move.

"No, this war is not lost!" Straha insisted, raising his voice. "We cannot give up just because we have encountered difficulty! We are the Race! We do not falter, we do not surrender, and we will crush the Big Uglies. All that's necessary is changing our current tactics."

"You mean battering them with explosive-metal bombs on a massive scale." Kirel responded with derision. "Even if it worked, it would leave the planet unsuitable for the colonization fleet, and have you forgotten the Tosevites possess explosive-metal bombs of their own?"

"We cannot show weakness in face of the enemy!" A shiplord argued. "If we give up here, they will think they are superior to ours! Home itself could be in danger if we give up now!"

It was a point Atvar could not deny, and indeed, it was one of his chief concerns. It wouldn't be long before the Tosevites, at least in terms of military technology, would be more advanced than the Race. "We cannot conquer their planet, and they are proving willing to open negotiations." Atvar pointed out. "Perhaps it is possible that we can live in peace, even if it is not the one any of us would have imagined."

"Do you really think peace is possible?" Mepps asked, someone who had not aligned with either Straha or Atvar. "Can you be sure they will not deceive us and kill us all? Based on their previous behavior, it's likely they are pretending to be in a stronger position than they actually are."

"Do you think conquest is possible?" Atvar returned. "Our losses have been massive. Tell me honestly: do you think it can be done?"

"We have explosive-metal bombs, hundreds of them." Another shiplord reminded. "We have restrained ourselves thus far, but how can they replace the losses we can inflict on them?"

"You would leave the planet unsuitable for the colonization fleet using them so casually!" Kirel exclaimed.

"Only about half this planet is usable for us, and the colder areas we have no use for encompass our strongest enemies." The shiplord insisted. "Destroy them, and use the warmer areas of Tosev 3 for our colonists."

"But what will they do to us?" Skyrim worried. "They have countless bombs of their own and while most of their land-based missiles have been destroyed, our success against their underwater boats have been minimal. How many of those have we hunted down?"

"Only three at the moment," Atvar responded. And those were mostly blind luck, catching them close to the surface by pure chance. Who knew how many others the Tosevites had? "Home has already been warned of the changing situation, and the estimated time it will take the Tosevites to travel between the stars."

"You have given up at the first blow!" Straha exclaimed. "If the Big Uglies are as dangerous as you say they are, all the more reason to conquer them. If you're unwilling to do so, simply destroy them and be done with it."

"We do not have the capability to do any such thing." Kirel reminded. It was likely that many of the explosive-metal bombs would be intercepted. Most of their major population centers had at least some sort of missile defense. "Do not forget that under such circumstances, the Big Uglies would launch everything they had at us. I will not stand for such unnecessary bloodshed."

Most males looked like they agreed with Straha, however. "The Emperor has ordered us to conquer Tosev 3." Straha declared. "Is there anyone here who would go against his word?" All of them lowered their eye turrets briefly, then went back to their discussion.

"If we left, our colonization fleet would be vulnerable." Skyrim worried, and he had a legitimate concern. "They have no soldiers, no weapons, and they would be defenseless towards any attack the Big Uglies chose to make."

"Their fleetlord is awoken a year-tenth before their fleet enters the system." One of Atvar's supporters argued. "They will be informed of the situation and expected to turn around."

"No, the conquest must go forward!" Straha insisted. "I have multiple plans for a successful completion. There are many males more suited for overall command of our ground forces than the ones who currently hold those positions, ones who can fight as the Big Uglies do. Combine that with a more liberal use of explosive-metal bombs, and Tosev 3 will be ours! We cannot allow your incompetence to cost us such a vital mission!"

Atvar hissed in fury, only just restraining himself from tearing his throat open. Most of the assembled shiplords were shocked that Straha would directly insult the fleetlord, but far too many looked like they agreed, even if they were unwilling to say so out loud.

"Then I am ordering you to abandon the conquest and return Home." Atvar sighed. He was hoping it wouldn't come to that, but most did not look like they were going to listen, making this necessary.

Most of them looked unhappy at the news, but would they still obey? Just the fact that Atvar had to wonder was a major indication that Tosev 3 had changed each and every one of them. He hated taking such a step, but he did not see any way to achieve a successful conquest and decided not to waste his males' lives trying.

"No," Straha spoke out. Everyone in the room gasped. Questioning orders was bad enough, but it was extremely rare to see a male of the Race openly defy their superiors.

"I hope I didn't just hear what I think I did." Atvar glared dangerously at his rival, giving him a single chance to take back his words.

"If you cannot accomplish a successful conquest, we should replace you with someone who can." Straha declared. "Shiplords, I declare that Fleetlord Atvar has proven himself to be consistently incompetent and unsuited for his position. He should be replaced with a male more suited to the task." By his preening, Straha suggested that he had at least one male in mind.

"You would dare try and overthrow me?" Atvar snarled, wondering if it would be worth it to attack Straha and throw him out the airlock so his radicalism and stupidity would no longer infect the conquest fleet.

"This is not a Mutiny, merely a procedure that eliminates a male if he is unsuitable for his post." Straha insisted.

"I am sorry, Exalted Fleetlord, but he is correct." Kirel hissed miserably. "Shall we vote openly or secretly?"

"Let everyone express their views; let all of us see how incompetent and foolish Atvar really is." Straha announced. Some wanted a secret ballot, others an open one. The latter carried the day, worrying Atvar. It meant that Straha was confident that he would succeed in removing him from his post.

He tried to look as impassive as possible, but Atvar doubted he was fooling anyone. Never in his worst nightmares did he expect to endure a vote that could remove him as the fleetlord. He looked at the tally with increasing alarm; far more were voting for his removal than his retention. He was grateful that Kirel at least seemed to be supporting him.

"Votes favoring his removal equal... seventy-nine percent." Kirel gasped out in shock. "Those favoring his retention total twenty-one percent. This is a three-fourths majority." He looked at Atvar, lost for words.

"You are a fool, Straha." Atvar warned. "Your lunacy and radicalism will cost us the lives of millions of males." He stomped out of the room, unable to stay inside any longer.

XXXXXXXXXX

After a few days, Straha was elected the new fleetlord of the Conquest Fleet. He had decided to keep Kirel as second-in-command, mostly so he could keep a close eye on him. He knew Kirel still supported Atvar and was not about to let anyone else get in the way of what had to be done to ensure the conquest.

His first action was to remove from command those who proved unable to adapt to the Big Uglies' way of war, and replaced them with lower-ranking males who had better proved themselves on the battlefield. Even most of them could not equal the Big Uglies in imitative and skill, but were far closer to doing so than their predecessors.

Next, Straha prepared a massive assault that he hoped would force the enemy into submission. Their major population centers had missile defenses, but even the superpowers did not have enough of them to protect every single city, so he chose military formations and smaller cities as his targets. In total, he chose thirty-five tactical and strategic targets, about 1/6th of the Race's remaining stockpile: sixteen in the United States, ten in the Soviet Union, three each in Britain and France, two in Germany, and one in China.

XXXXXXXXXX

March 6, 1983:

"Do you really think this is going to work?" Edward green wondered as he put the finishing touches on the prototypes, completed months ahead of schedule with assistance from American and Soviet technicians.

"Can't let them think they can strike us with impunity," Berko Diya, an immigrant from Algeria. "Makes me wonder if any of us are going to survive this." That, more than anything else, told Green that he was not an Englishmen. Few native Englishmen would have been so open about his fears, even though it was on everyone's minds. At this rate, would there be anything left, even if humanity did win.

Two thermonuclear bombs struck Southampton and Portsmouth. It was estimated that about 50% to 75% of their populations would die in spite of everything they could do to treat individuals who suffered from radiation poisoning. They were important bases that allowed them to transport supplies and reinforcements to mainland Europe. Their ability to do so had been badly crippled. The missile aimed towards Bournemouth had thankfully been intercepted.

The United States had been hit with nine nuclear weapons. Akron, Toledo, Chattanooga, and Amarillo had been mostly destroyed, in addition to five tactical targets. The Soviet Union had bombs dropped on Smolensk, Chelyabinsk, Saratov, and Kostanay, along with two military groups hit. Munster in Germany, Nancy in France, and Beijing. Due to being a poor nation, the strike in Beijing was likely to kill more than all the others combined.

But now they were ready to hit back with a new weapon. "I wish I could see their faces when they see this thing coming at them." Green gave a small smile. "They think they're untouchable up there."

"Just wish we had more of them." Berko stated. They had developed four nuclear anti-satellite weapons for use against the lizards' starships in orbit. Most of Britain's land based missiles had been destroyed, and the HMS Renown had been sunk with 42 nukes on board, leaving Britain with approximately 145 left.

"20 minutes and counting," Green stated. They were intending to launch the weapons at exactly the same time all around the world in order to give the lizards no time to react. They were not entirely confident that this would work, or reach high enough into orbit to hit the lizards' starships, but they would do the best they can.

The minutes counted down as the aircraft took off. _One way or another, we'll find out if it works. _Green thought. _Always figured one day the world would end in nuclear annihilation; just never thought it would be because of aliens._

XXXXXXXXXX

"Exalted Fleetlord, the Tosevites are responding." Kirel warned, looking at the screen.

"Have we hunted down their boats?" Straha demanded. He had warned them to be ready to face a Big Ugly counterattack, but even now, it seemed like too many members of the Race had not adjusted to the changing circumstances.

"They're not being launched at our bases... they're... they're aimed directly at our ships." Kirel said, hardly daring to believe what he was being told.

Straha practically shoved him aside as he looked at the computer model. Over two dozen missiles, likely armed with explosive-metal bombs, were being launched directly towards their starships. Some of them were attempting to accelerate in order to evade, but most hadn't the slightest idea what to do, and if every ship broke orbit, there was always the danger of a starship collision.

"This is Fleetlord Straha: the Big Uglies have launched a series of missiles which are being aimed at our starships." He announced. "I don't care what you have to do, but intercept them and evade them!" Not that it would do much good, as he knew perfectly well. Only a handful of starships had any kind of defense, not expecting to be attacked in orbit.

Nor did they have any time to react. The missiles would hit their targets in a couple of minutes. However selfish it sounded, Straha was grateful that his ship was not in the line of fire. They were beginning to accelerate and change their orbits, but slowly, far too slowly.

Five starships were destroyed in a matter of seconds, the weapons slamming directly into the engines. Even a nuclear bomb was not enough to completely vaporize the ship, however, and many pieces of debris would fall to the surface over the next few days.

Out of the twenty-five ships targeted, twenty-one were ultimately destroyed. One missile was a dud, while the other three were successfully evaded. Although most males were on the surface, the total death toll was still close to forty thousand, many of them wounded males who had been evacuated into orbit for treatment.

Straha's eye turrets were wide open as his mind continued to process the information. The Tosevites would pay for this attack, that much he promised! "Kirel, prepare a retaliatory strike; we will teach the Big Uglies not to strike us!"

"With respect, Exalted Fleetlord, if we use explosive-metal bombs in such a fashion, the planet will not be worth colonizing." Kirel argued, a very unusual move for a male of the Race. However, he was too afraid of what would happen to keep silent.

"Explain," Straha hissed, beginning to think he should have replaced Kirel after all.

"Tosev 3 will not be worth colonizing after such destruction." Kirel informed, choosing his words carefully. "Our scientists are divided as to what the extent of the damage would be, in large part because it depends on the circumstances, but the Tosevites have a concept of 'nuclear winter'. If such an event happens, Tosev 3 will undergo a long period of darkness and cold temperatures, meaning that an already cold planet will be even worse for us."

"I would rather have a partial planet ready for our colonists than give up the fight and leave them defenseless to whatever the Big Uglies chose to do." Straha argued stubbornly, but Kirel's point was too important to be completely discounted. "They butcher each other on a horrific scale? Do you think they would treat us with any more kindness?"

"Perhaps not, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel conceded. However incompetent Straha considered Atvar, he was at least smart enough to send a warning to Home to prepare for a possible Tosevite attack.

"The fate of the Race is on the line; we will not fail." Straha promised.

XXXXXXXXXX

Wuppah wanted a taste of ginger. He had only just managed to resist bringing a few tastes along for the flight. Ginger was getting cheaper and easily available, so it cost him much less than it would have in the past.

_I am a Male of the Race; I will focus on my mission. _Wuppah told himself once again. They were patrolling much further into the ocean- a foreign concept for the Race- than they would have previously. Orders from up high declared that the Big Uglies would soon launch a nuclear attack from their submarines and destroying them before they could was considered top priority.

"They're out there; I know it." Wuppah muttered, knowing that failure to spot them could mean all their lives. Their base was a prime target, although not so big as to be protected by a skelkwank device. The Race only possessed twenty-five, not nearly enough to protect every base, so they were placed at only the vitally important ones.

"I'm surprised they haven't struck us yet; do we know how many of these devices they possess?" Dresn wondered. He was now a very wealthy male, although few apart from Wuppah knew it. Despite being a ginger dealer, he was still a competent flightmale.

"We do not, but we destroy them the instant we find them." Chook declared. Their missiles could reach down into the ocean, albeit with considerable difficulty. "Fortunately, no Big Ugly craft are in the vicinity." They had found an enemy airbase three days ago and destroyed them on the ground with minimal losses, an event that happened far more rarely than Wuppah would have liked.

Wuppah hoped they would not encounter any, but it didn't seem especially likely. Big Ugly killercraft had far shorter ranges than their Race equivalent, and even they had to be refueled for such an extended mission. They were patrolling close to 1200 Tlocks away from the shore- another word the Race borrowed from the Tosevites- and would need to be refueled soon. Fortunately, killercraft designed for that purpose were heading towards them now.

A couple minutes before they would have been refueled, a possible sighting was reported. Wuppah and the rest of his squadron launched four missiles each in a desperate attempt to destroy the submarine before it could attack. They succeeded, but not before a pair of missiles were launched towards their positions.

"By the emperor!" Ristin exclaimed. They did everything they could do to stop him, but it wasn't enough. Now all they could do is pray that their defenses would be able to shoot them down. The missiles were out of visible range within a matter of seconds. Wuppah thought about launching his missiles in an attempt to destroy them, but they couldn't match the acceleration of the Tosevite attack.

"Do we at least know where they're going?" Dresn wondered.

"Our base, I would presume." Chook admitted. All of them hated this feeling of helplessness. There was nothing they could do to defend it, and could only watch and pray that the pair of missiles would be intercepted.

As their supply craft refueled their killercraft, all of them wondered whether or not their comrades would survive. Once the refueling was complete, they could continue to patrol for another day-tenth. It might not even be the only attack, and Wuppah was determined that the Big Uglies would not fool the Race again.

Everyone did their best to continue to search, but the fate of their comrades was never far from their minds. They would know in a matter of minutes, one way or the other, if they survived. "The Big Uglies should be exterminated!" Dresn snarled. "Kill them all and colonize Tosev 3 on their charred corpses. This crime cannot go unavenged!"

Most did not agree with him. Even if few in the Conquest Fleet felt like true males any more, such a desire for bloodshed horrified most of them. Wuppah occasionally had the same thoughts, but ruthlessly suppressed it. Such an attitude would get the Race nowhere. The most important thing now was to keep it from happening again.

_I need a taste of ginger, _Wuppah thought. It was the only thing that made this miserable world worth living on. It could drive him to insanity, but sometimes, it was the only thing keeping him sane.

"Our base is safe!" Chook exclaimed to the others. "I just received a report that mentioned we intercepted the missile aimed for us!"

"Yes!" Wuppah laughed, if only to keep from collapsing into an emotional heap from his close brush with death. Had it impacted, countless males and equipment would have been killed.

Once their patrol was over, however, the news became less optimistic. The base adjacent to them was completely obliterated with only a handful of survivors. The missiles broke into seven different warheads, five of them detonating 1.2 Tlocks above the surface. Even the males who survived the initial blast were unlikely to be able to endure the radiation poisoning that would surely result.

_That could have been us... that might have been us. _Wuppah realized. It was pure chance that their base was not destroyed instead of or as well as the one adjacent to them. Along with relief, there was also a slight amount of guilt that he survived when so many others did not. He knew none of the males who died, but they were his comrades regardless.

Nor was that the only strike. On the news feed, Wuppah was listening to more missiles being launched at bases and armies in the United States, the Soviet Union, North Africa, and the Middle East. In total, forty-one warheads hit Race armies and positions. He had no idea what the losses were, but they were certain to be massive.

He took a taste of ginger so he wouldn't have to think about it, and he was far from the only male to do so. Even after a taste, however, the fear did not completely go away. He knew safety was an illusion, but decided to enjoy the feeling regardless.

XXXXXXXXXX

March 10, 1983:

"You'd think we'd be happier after the lizards took so much damage." Melanie sighed as she looked around Nashville. The lizards were pushing hard against it, succeeding in taking most of the surrounding towns, but the city itself was still free of invaders, even if air raids were a daily occurrence.

"Probably wondering if any of us are going to survive this," Thomas remarked. Sixty nuclear weapons detonating on earth in a single day, not including the twenty-one lizard starships that were destroyed, made a lot of people begin to believe that an all-out nuclear exchange was only a matter of time.

However badly the lizards had been hurt, the number of warheads was rather sobering, especially since without the defenses of both sides, it would have been over twice that number. It was quite possible that Nashville would be next, it being one of the main bastions to keep the lizards from taking over the South. They had plenty of air defenses, but it wouldn't stop everything.

"The Sprint program was activated months ago; guess the treaty doesn't mean a whole lot during an alien invasion." Thomas remarked. Both of them were looking up at the sky, wondering if they would be next to die in a nuclear firestorm. Her brother had explained that modern buildings were much stronger than the ones at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, improving their chances of survival, but it didn't reassure her much.

Both of them went back underground. The subway and sewer systems were being used as makeshift shelters for people who did not have a fallout shelter of their own, which most of them did not. Those who were lucky enough mostly kept their mouths shut, for fear of their shelter and supplies being raided by desperate people looking for safety.

"This place stinks," Mark groaned as he greeted them. "I don't know how anyone can stand this."

"You get used to it eventually." Melanie replied. Neither she, her brother, or Katherine had a proper bath or shower in weeks. All they'd gotten was the occasional rainstorms, which weren't anywhere near enough. She'd gotten used to it, as she was slowly becoming a professional soldier. She only wished Thomas would shut up about all the possibilities of disease.

"Get used to what?" Katherine asked.

"Not really important; anything new?" Melanie inquired. Even with all the flashlights, it wasn't easy to see, especially since they had power for only a few hours a day. It was amazing just how many people were living in either the subway, sewer system, or flood drains, even those who still had homes.

"I've been asking around, but not yet." Katherine stated. "I've seen a few cute guys here. If there wasn't a war on, I'd see if they'd ask me out."

"Don't we have other priorities?" Thomas asked. "Seeing people look at Melanie like that gets kind of tiresome." Melanie was accustomed to it and the ones who merely looked or tried to flirt, she ignored and didn't get bothered by them. However the ones who asked her for sex, often saying: "This could be our last night on Earth; let's do it" or something to that effect enraged her.

"It's a shame, but what else do we have to talk about?" Mark chuckled. It was easier than thinking about the possibility of a nuclear bomb being dropped on their heads, but try as they might, it was never far out of their mind. "So you may want to be careful about investigating any noises."

"I'll keep that in mind." Katherine replied, eating one of her ration bars. None of them wanted to sit down inside the flood drain, even though it was only barely tall enough for them, so they continued to walk around and talk about anything they thought would distract them from nuclear war.

Melanie burst out laughing at one of the stories Katherine had told her about what the two of them had gotten up to at school. "I swear to god, the Principal's face turned purple!" Katherine exclaimed. "I was sure the two of us would end up expelled!"

"Don't forget me covering for you." Thomas pointed out. He had few stories of his own, but liked to talk about all his various interests. "I was thinking once all this was over is to see if I can move to a more wide open space. If it wasn't for the circumstances, being in the woods would have been fun. Actually, it was something of an adventure."

"You've completely lost your mind." Katherine rolled her eyes. Thomas had never liked crowds and never got used to them, even living in a major city. It didn't surprise any of them, but what even Melanie couldn't comprehend was how any part of that could be fun. She was glad it was over and if possible, she never intended to set foot in the woods again.

Her reply was drowned out for artillery hitting the city. All four of them immediately ducked down and covered their heads, Mark landing on top of Melanie, with both of them cursing in pain. For a brief moment, all four of them thought that it was a nuclear strike and while being underground was much better than above, it was no sure protection.

The attack lasted less than a minute, but the lizards were pushing closer and closer to the city. "Shit, I thought we'd just been nuked!" Mark laughed to try and relieve some of the tension and fear. All of them chuckled lightly, but that was it.

Once they went back outside, there did not seem to be much new damage. Melanie had heard rumors that the lizards were running low on ammunition, and this seemed to be confirming it. Some people were killed, more injured, but that was about it. In other words, just another day.

"Amazing what you can get accustomed to," Thomas commented. "Least it doesn't look like Dresden or Berlin did in 1945."

"Do you really have to bring that crap up?" Mark groaned. "Come on, let's see what we can do for the wounded."

Melanie and Mark grabbed a stretcher and the four of them helped carry a wounded civilian out of there. He was over seventy years old, meaning that he was unlikely to get as much medical care as he would if he was younger. It might have been heartless, but the local authorities were reserving their medicine for when it would do the most good.

He was conscious and in remarkably good humor. "If the trenches didn't kill me, the lizards certainly can't." He laughed. "We were built tough back in my day." He was covered in bruises and had a broken foot, but was still together enough to talk and even joke. Melanie knew she certainly would never be able to do that under the same circumstances.

"Whenever somebody says 'in my day', it's a definite sign that they're an old geezer." Thomas quipped. Impolite as it was, Melanie was still glad that her brother was able to joke, even if Katherine and Mark were expressing disapproval. The man laughed again.

"Thanks; we'll take it from here." The nearest nurse they could find ordered. She looked no older than Melanie, perhaps even a year or two younger.

Later that night, more artillery shells echoed through the city, waking Melanie and Mark up even if they weren't close. Before the nuclear exchange, it rattled her much less, but now she never knew whether there was a nuke with her name on it. She'd always feared a nuclear war from the time she was a small child, but it had gotten worse than ever.

_Even if we win, will there be anything left? _was Melanie's last thought before falling asleep again.

XXXXXXXXXX


	15. Chapter 15

Sorry about the delay on this, but on the bright side, I managed to get two chapters and part of a third one done on my colonization story. So should I just posting it or wait until this story is completed before I do so?

To those of you who are wondering why the Race still seems to be winning in spite of the reduced technological disadvantage: keep in mind that the world in 1982 was not on a wartime footing for the most part. In 1942, the United States had four million men under arms, Germany had eight, the Soviet Union had around 10, and that was just the Big Three. Military forces in 1982 were a lot smaller.

XXXXXXXXXX

March 24, 1983:

"So much for thinking we were winning this war..." Alexis muttered, making sure that none of his subordinates heard him. Morale was shaky enough as it was and if they heard a superior officer making such statements, it could end up getting them all killed.

Thanks to many of their remaining soldiers killed at Nancy and the arrival of warmer weather, only a small part of France was still in friendly hands. The lizards had besieged Paris, apparently learning not to get drawn into urban warfare battles, where they had an advantage. They had been pushed all the way back to the outskirts of Soissons.

Nobody intended to stay inside the city for long, being that the Race was showing an inclination to drop a nuclear weapon on a city that could not be easily taken. Alexis had heard from the grapevine that a new leader had taken over their fleet, one that was willing to take more aggressive measures. The combined nuclear strikes around the world had killed around a million people, about 150,000 of them in Nancy. It would have been even worse had they not been able to treat the victims of radiation poisoning.

"How long are we going to stay in this place?" Lucien wondered. He looked ready to charge into the lizard advance, heedless of his own safety. Then Alexis remembered that Lucien's family lived in Nancy and were more than likely dead. It made him wonder whether his own family was still around; the occupation had played hell with communication.

"As long as we can hurt the lizards," Alexis responded. In actuality, the plan was to conduct a fighting retreat, lure them by their nose through the city, hurt them as much as possible, and then scatter into the countryside. Whether it would work remained to be seen. At their current pace, the lizards would arrive within a few days. Already their jets were pounding the city several times a day.

Soldiers and civilians alike were working as hard as they could to strengthen the cities' defenses. Alexis spotted a pair of boys who could not have been any older than ten gathering some of the rubble and turning it into a barrier. Outside the city, trenches were being dug, anti-tank mines and traps were being set up, and anyone capable of holding a gun was being conscripted.

At least from a distance, it looked formidable. How well it would actually do remained to be seen. _I wonder if they'll try and take the city or just surround it; it's not like we're strong enough to keep them from doing so. _Alexis thought. Based on the constant raids, however, he believed that the lizards' intention was to take the city. Otherwise, bombardment would be minimal and designed to keep them inside the city rather than reducing it to rubble. The lizards were better soldiers than they were when they arrive, but still weren't skilled in tactical terms.

That afternoon, he was lucky enough to be taken in by a family who was willing to share what little they still had. Alexis thought seriously about refusing, since all of them had obviously lost weight and food was getting shorter by the day, but they refused to consider it. Eventually, he gave him and ate everything they offered to him.

"Thank you, but... why?" He asked once the meal was over. There were many who would not have done the same, instead perhaps attempting to steal food from their neighbors and even friends. Not all of the beasts in France now were lizards.

"We're all in this together," The father explained; Alexis had never gotten a name from him. "Life is difficult enough without us turning on one another when times are difficult. I saw far too much of that as a child."

"Whatever your reasoning, thank you." Alexis replied sincerely. He had a wife and daughter, but there was a fifth chair on the table, indicating that there used to be someone else there. Likely on the front lines or dead; he decided not to ask which it was. There was no point in bringing up painful memories for them.

"No thanks are necessary, but you're welcome." He responded. "Oh, I forgot: my name is Daniel; this is my wife Isabel and my daughter, Claudia." His daughter Claudia was currently on the floor, playing with some of her old toys. She was around eleven years old and the toys looked suitable for a child half her age, but there was little else for entertainment at the moment.

He looked at one of the shelves and saw a photograph of another daughter, one that looked to be around eighteen or twenty. It reminded him of his own family and whether or not he would ever be able to see them again. Alexis had gotten a brief note from his parents, letting them know they were alive, but nothing about his two older brothers.

"So what do you do here?"Alexis wondered.

"I used to work for the county as an accountant," Daniel responded. "Isabel was... actually, she still is a nurse. She was ordered to take a few days off in order to rest."

"Quite understandable," Alexis nodded. As busy as they were, it increased the likelihood of nurses and doctors making mistakes. He hoped she'd be able to return in a day or two, though; casualties were high now, and they'd only get worse once the lizards entered the city. "I remember I sometimes wanted to be a teacher... seems like a lifetime ago now." At the time he joined the military, he didn't have the maturity for the job, which he hoped to obtain by the time his tour was finished.

"We have a guest room if you intend to stay the night." Isabel informed him.

"Yes, thank you for your generosity." Alexis smiled. "That would be wonderful." The sixth air raid of the day began. Without a word, the family stopped what they were doing and walked calmly down into the basement. Every still in Scissions had gotten accustomed to the constant danger. The basement was fortified with little more than wood, which might stop a glancing blow, but would do little to protect against a close bomb.

After they locked the door, Claudia went back to her toys. Alexis wasn't sure if the girl had completely lost her mind or if that was the most sane thing she could possibly do. They had a few days' worth of food stockpiled just in case they ended up trapped inside. Daniel handed a glass of water to all three of them.

"Dad would kill me if he saw me drinking from a plastic cup," Alexis chuckled; his dad had always been something of a snob, even if he was working-class. The bombing didn't bother him much, not anymore.

"Mama, is the chess set down here?" Claudia walked around, searching in the dark through it. Evidently, she knew the basement well, for Alexis heard no sign that she bumped into anything. "I thought I put it down here."

"She's one of the best players I know," Isabel said proudly to Alexis. Answering her daughter, she responded: "It's dark, sweetie; we can't play down here." She sighed and complained, but knew there was no way around it. "She can already beat both of us."

"Sounds like you have a champion chess player in your family," Alexis smiled, even though neither of them could see it in the dark. The raid sounded like it was beginning to lighten, possibly because the lizards were running out of their own ammunition and using captured factories was not able to fully solve their problem.

"It gives us something to do." Daniel shrugged. "At least when it's light outside, and we're not under attack. Would you like to play a game?"

"No, no thank you." Alexis declined. He had only played a few times and while he didn't want to admit it, even to himself, the idea of losing to an eleven year old horrified him. "I'm going to have plenty to keep me occupied." The air raid came to an end and all of them breathed a sigh of relief.

"Can we play now?" Claudia insisted after they walked out of the basement.

"Later, once we go help our neighbors." Isabel responded. Her daughter was just as willing to assist them as everyone else. When they got outside, Alexis smell smoke, indicating that at least a few fires had been started. Most of the water mains were broken, so the buildings were doomed; hopefully, no one was trapped inside them.

He removed a couple pieces of rubble from the road with Daniel's assistance, although he was obviously struggling with it. Alexis reminded himself that the man was close to fifty and in a desk job, and thus wasn't suited for this kind of work. It could get exhausting even for him, but it had to be done. Many of the newer buildings in Scissions were still standing, but most of the older ones had been destroyed by explosions or fires.

"Code 187! Code 187!" The radio began to blare as Alexis began to pick up his third piece of rubble, one much lighter than the previous two. He gulped and set it down, rushing to headquarters as fast as he could. The code was only for extremely important bulletins that everyone needed to hear and could not be intercepted by the enemy. He bid the family a brief farewell and took off.

Even traveling through the ruined streets, he kept his eyes open for suitable hiding spots for the next air raid. Based on the lizards' patterns, it likely wouldn't be more than a few hours before they showed up again. Alexis arrived at the destination shortly, stubbing his toe on a slab on concrete in the process.

He ran into one of the captains, who swiftly informed Alexis: "Grab your gear; we're getting the hell out."

"What... why?" Alexis stammered out. All the hard work that had gone into defending Scissions, and they were going to hand it over without a fight? Had the brass completely lost their minds.

"Yeah, it sure as hell sounds like it." The captain sounded no happier about it than Alexis. "Word is we intercepted a transmission that said the lizards were going to drop an atomic bomb on Scissions if they didn't capture it quickly, and they decided to flee rather than risk more civilian deaths."

"Goddamn fucking sons of bitches!" Alexis exclaimed. "Do the damn lizards plan to blow every city up?" He reluctantly conceded that they had a point, however little he liked the sound of it. "Sir... couldn't we respond in kind? The lizards know that, right, and they can't replenish their losses the way we can."

"Won't work too well anymore, damn it." The captain cursed in frustration. "They figured out we still have some bombs of their own, and they're basing most of their men into cities to use our people as human shields. Fucking cowards! But get everyone moving; the Major wants everyone out of Scissions by tomorrow morning."

They quickly evacuated out of the town; Alexis said farewell to the family and gave them his best wishes. Their squad was furious over the order and wished they could do something to make them pay. The bigger problem was that not much of France was still free and with the threat of nuclear weapons hanging over the heads, it wouldn't be long before the entire nation was conquered.

XXXXXXXXXX

March 27, 1983:

"By the emperor, this city is ours!" Votal cheered, exhausted but victorious. Betvoss only wished he could say the same. Shiyan had been retaken, but only after a lot of blood had been spilled. Outside the city, Chinese bandits still roamed the countryside, hitting as many of their supply convoys as they could. They launched raids outside the city, but had little real effect.

They traveled in squads; individual males who wondered off frequently met a gruesome end. The Chinese were not known for their merciful tendencies. A pair of bombs was spotted, forcing them to halt the patrol and defuse them. Betvoss was extremely grateful the machines used to do so were mostly intact. Their plows were even tougher than their landcruisers, but on occasion, there were mines that they failed to pick up.

"Keep thinking they're going to start shooting at us," Premas muttered, his eye turrets scanning the buildings. With so many Big Uglies walking the streets, there were far too many to keep track of in case one of them decided to open fire. Rules about harming non-combatants had loosened since Straha had taken over, but most males of the Race knew that killing people who were not in arms against them was likely to inflame things more.

"Just be ready for anything," Votal declared. The mines were destroyed and they went about their patrol. The city had obviously been fought over, but most of it had not suffered severe damage. Neither side had enough males fighting to turn it into a true urban battle, for which Betvoss was extremely thankful.

Patrols were longer and there was less rest in between them than before. Betvoss knew that was because the number of males fit for combat was falling, though many others had not yet made that connection; instead, they were just griping about the Big Uglies. He scanned all the faces, having a lot of difficulty telling the differences between them. "Any sign of them firing?" Betvoss asked. He hadn't spotted any, but perhaps his comrades would.

"No, not at the moment." Premas responded.

"Be nice if we could clear these savages out, force them to stay off the streets." Banta complained. There was a curfew, and any Big Ugly found after dark was assumed to be an enemy combatant and killed. It wouldn't endear them to the Race, but it would make the Tosevites respect them.

"Be grateful you haven't fought on the northern half of the lesser continental mass; it was a lot worse there." Betvoss warned. Perhaps in terms of casualties, but as for the psychological effect, it was just as severe in China, maybe even more so. In the United States, it had gotten even worse; since the use of explosive-metal bombs, they were employing poisonous gases on a large scale.

When he mentioned that to the others, Votal responded: "They do it here too, so be cautious." All of them were wearing clothing, although only perhaps half had a proper gas mask and even fewer had a full suit. Betvoss felt practically naked in just his stolen Big Ugly clothing.

The weather had warmed up somewhat, though it was still too cold by the standards of the Race. The drizzle was making it even more unpleasant, the rain soaking through many of their clothes. It reminded Betvoss of just how alien Tosev 3 was.

"How do any of the Big Uglies stand this climate?" Premas wondered, wrapping his jacket around him as tightly as he could.

"All what you're used to, I suppose." Betvoss shrugged. "They adapted to live here; we did not. Our scientists will study what makes this world so different than the other worlds in the Empire." _Assuming we win this conflict. _Betvoss thought. Those were not words he dared to share with anyone, even the males he fought alongside, but he doubted that he was the only one who was skeptical of a successful conquest.

There was more trouble shortly afterwards. On one of the main roads, a fight broke out between the Big Uglies. Soon, at least a hundred of them were throwing punches at each other, ignoring the Race's demands to disperse. The road was covered in Big Uglies, with the males unsure of what to do. If they were attacking, the answer would be obvious, but since they were merely fighting amongst themselves, they merely waited there.

"Typical; the Big Uglies know nothing of civilized behavior." Banta sneered. He was one of the newcomers in the battalion, who had previously been serving in Europe. Banta couldn't remember which not-empire it was and believed it didn't matter. "The way they kill one another, I'm not surprised."

"Maybe, but what are we supposed to do?" Premas complained. "We're sitting ducks right now!" Nobody was attacking them, but from what they could see, even more Big Uglies were joining in. Betvoss hadn't the slightest idea of what the fight was about. "At least if they were shooting at us, we could kill them and be on our way!"

_I'm beginning to think this can't be a coincidence, _Betvoss thought. Big Uglies were savages, but they were also clever. It was quite possible that this was a staged fight to keep members of the Race from patrolling the city. At present, it was little more than a nuisance, but even nuisances hindered the war effort. He waited for Big Uglies in the crowd to draw weapons and start shooting.

Eventually, though, they received orders: clear them, but use non-lethal force if necessary. Even so, it was likely to be an unpleasant ask. "Shooting them would be much easier," Banta complained, but he obeyed nonetheless.

The Big Uglies, though, wanted to continue their quarrel and refused to budge, even when prodded by rifle butts. One of them hit a male in the jaw with his fist, cursing in his native language. Recognizing that shooting him would cause more problems, they started using their weapons as clubs, pushing them out of the road and threatening them with dire consequences if their demands were not met.

"Be ready; if they're going to attack, this is the time." Votal warned. They were out of formation and unable to cover one another as efficiently as they would have liked. However, the fight was eventually broken up, with three males of the Race and a dozen Big Uglies sporting bloody wounds; even more had bruises and even a couple broken bones.

"What a relief; I thought the Big Uglies would kill us all when we were trapped." Premas stated.

"Yeah, but fights breaking out on three roads at once?" Betvoss informed. "That had to have been planned by someone. Even Big Uglies aren't that savage."

"We all know the routine by now." Votal declared.

"So when are we going to advance again?" Banta inquired. "We haven't conquered this whole not-empire just yet." It had taken close to one year-sixth to retake the city and at the moment, they didn't have enough males to advance. Hell, they were barely able to hold the territory they had.

"Should be soon; the weather's improving which will allow us to move more easily." Premas speculated.

Their patrol was badly slowed, but much to everyone's relief, nobody started shooting at them. Even so, Betvoss was suspicious; something had to be up. Why did the Big Uglies do this if there was nothing to be gained from it? It was deliberate, that much was certain, but why?

His worries did not desist once the patrol was over and they went back to their headquarters. Many of his comrades laughed, their morale increased, but some felt just as nervous as he was. _Glad I'm not the only one who noticed. _It seemed some of his superiors had their heads firmly wedged up their cloaca. Betvoss felt safer, but not completely safe, inside the base.

"Strange how so many Big Uglies got into fights at the same time." Premas mused. "If it wasn't for the fact that the patrol otherwise went as normal, I'd think that it was some kind of ploy."

"Since we weren't attacked, it sounds more like their savagery," Banta responded. "If it was a ploy, they would have attacked us. We'd have been sitting verpi (one of the few flying animals on Home) at that time."

"Trick or not, I'm grateful nothing happened, by the emperor." Votal stated; all of them lowered their eye turrets. "We may be advancing tomorrow, so be ready."

"It shall be done," all of his subordinates replied in unison. Betvoss was wondering how that could happen. With so many Big Uglies, they were badly overextended just in the territory they still held. Either their superiors were too optimistic or they were just trying to keep the males on the ground believing; most likely both.

_Would the colonists even recognize me now? _Betvoss asked himself. It was a thought that occupied him every single day of his life. Considering his superiors idiots, sometimes actually considering disobeying orders... what was happening to him? What was he becoming? The fight had lasted a year and a half, with the enemy supposedly being on the brink of collapse for the past year.

He observed one of his fellow males twist and mutter in his sleep, fighting imaginary enemies. That male was far from the only one and while nobody had ever mentioned it to him, Betvoss wouldn't doubt that he had done the same. More than once, he had woken up in the middle of the night, breathing hard. He never mentioned it to anyone, but his comrades knew; of course they did.

Mortars were being fired at the base, and everyone jumped to immediate attention. The few who managed to sleep through it were hastily wakened and dragged into safe rooms by their comrades. The barracks' walls were not considered enough and with the Race's desire to leave no stone unturned, had built underground bunkers as well to hide inside.

"Can't we put a stop to this?" Banta complained. It occurred close to four times a week now (According to the Race's 10-day week, not the Tosevite one) and while it rarely did any real damage, it did keep the Race on their toeclaws, robbing them of security, and making it more difficult to sleep. Betvoss suspected that was the main intention.

"Nope, we can't." Votal sounded weary. "You all know what to do by now." Hovering killercraft were flying up to hunt down the attackers, but they were usually long gone by the time the Race arrived. Betvoss wondered why they even bothered, for all the good it usually did.

Although his vision was limited, Betvoss could hear them exploding in mid-air, which confused him. "What's going on?" He demanded. "We've never been able to shoot them down like that!" They had nothing to shoot down mortar shells, as their resources were extremely limited. The Skelkwank batteries helped, but not much; China wasn't considered important enough to use them.

He began to smell something. All of a sudden, Betvoss felt invincible. The Big Uglies were weak, feeble, easily conquered! They had no hope of defeating the Race! Plan after plan raced through his head, though he could not seem to hold onto them concretely. The small part of his mind that was still thinking rationally realized that the Big Uglies must have done something.

Seeing the males known to be ginger addicts act like they just had three tastes confirmed it in his mind. Some of them were grabbing their weapons and charging out there, heedless of any danger. He was highly tempted to follow them. In his ginger-induced haze, he could not see what any of the difficulties would be. Premas yelled, firing his weapon into the air. Votal would have berated him, save for the fact that ginger was affecting him as well.

Even as Betvoss advanced, he realized that this meant the Big Uglies had figured out one of the Race's major weaknesses and one they were completely unprepared for. Nearly everyone at the base had breathed some in and even the ones who had never used ginger were affected by it. The quiet part of his brain was screaming "trap" but Betvoss saw no reason to listen. After all, what could the Big Uglies really do to them?

"Death to the Tosevites!" One of the males screamed and that soon became a battle cry. Betvoss let his mouth hang open, imagining himself being able to kill dozens of Big Uglies at once, the idea that they could easily do the same to him ignored in the euphoria.

"Only one order: all Big Uglies die!" Votal proclaimed, waving his weapon around. Some of the males still had sense, but moved on regardless.

As a result, they were completely unprepared for the second wave of mortar shells. The helicopters killed most of the Big Uglies manning them, with only a few lucky enough to get away, but the gamble ended up paying off.

With a minute, Betvoss was finding that he was having difficulty breathing. "Something... something's wrong," he managed to gasp out. All he knew was that he had to get away, get away quickly, and retreat to where it was safe. Even the ginger could not overwhelm his fear receptors. He skittered away, leaving everything behind, including his weapon.

Throughout the base, many others were suffering similar effects. A few could barely move, much less flee. Had Betvoss been in a better state of mind, he would have gone back to assist them, at the most waiting until he had protective equipment. All he could think of was flight, instead. He tripped over a male who was on the brink of death, not letting it slow him down at all.

Once he got inside, he hid under one of the cots, trying to accelerate his breathing. Betvoss' limbs refused to obey him; once the adrenaline had worn off, he was scarcely able to move. He forced himself to keep breathing, to stay alive, to get revenge on the Big Uglies for pulling such a devious trick on the Race.

Those medical personnel who were not already collapsed on the ground, wounded or dead, sprinted out there with as much protection as they could find. Ignoring the males whom they knew would be unable to survive, the medics focused on treating the less affected. Perhaps they would be able to save even the worst off but with the antidote so limited, they had to prioritize.

Once Betvoss was dragged into the medical bay, he could barely make out what had happened. All he could understand was that they were hit with something they called "nerve gas", whatever that was. _By the emperor! _He mentally mustered as his eye turrets observed all the stricken males that were being brought in. More and more and more of them were wheeled in, and soon the hospital wing was overflowing with patients. They were forced to use the main room as well.

As the ginger wore off, Betvoss began to realize the consequences of his actions. He had fled for his life without the slightest regard for his fellow males, leaving them to their fate. Logically, there was little he could do, especially since he was suffering the same symptoms, but the guilt still gnawed at him. _By the emperor, what have I done? _He thought agonizingly.

XXXXXXXXXX

March 29, 1983:

_This is not good, not good at all. _Andrei thought. From the looks of things, the two main lizard forces currently occupying portions of the Soviet Union were attempting to link together. No matter what, that could not be permitted to happen. It would make things far more difficult for them.

It had even spooked Andropov enough to allow Ludmila to leave Iceland and go back to her job of training new recruits. The Soviet Union was beginning to reveal their remaining air power, now that production was finally at a decent pace, but the lizards still held air superiority. Therefore, they were only used in vital operations or in an area that was securely in Soviet hands.

The difficulty with increasing production was that the Soviet Union was close to bankrupt. They had spent twenty-five percent of their GDP on the military for close to a decade, and now the bill was coming due. At the moment, they were still mostly intact, but the lizard invasion was putting even more pressure on them than Reagan's military was prior to the war. To make a long story short, the Soviet Union was nearing bankruptcy.

However, the spring rasputitsa had slowed many of the lizards almost to a crawl. Their tanks and vehicles were built to handle the terrain, while the Race's tracks and engines often bogged down, something partisans took gleeful advantage of. According to some of the science-fiction writers who were consulting, the reason was that with less water on their planet, they had never been forced to deal with so much mud before.

The second piece of good news was that the new ginger bombs were working even better than Andrei dreamed was possible. The lizards, when under the influence of the drug, was far more prone to making mistakes than they would otherwise have been. It allowed the Red Army to stop their advance, occasionally even taking back some conquered territory.

The United States and the rest of NATO were making requests for the technology that allowed them to make it. Andrei highly doubted that his superiors world, even as they were continually promising to do so as soon as it was practical. Save for Britain, Europe was on the verge of conquest and with much less of an anti-ballistic shield, there was little they could do to protect themselves from the lizards' nuclear weapons. They could shoot down some, but perhaps not enough.

_What a pathetic bunch of cowards, _Andrei sneered to himself. If his country had the same attitude during the Great Patriotic War, the whole nation would still belong to Germany! They had suffered from the lizards' nuclear strikes too, but refused to give him to fear. Andrei failed to take into account the vast differences in their military situation and attitudes.

He pushed himself to his feet and headed to their latest meeting about coordinating their forces. In practice, these meetings often turned into heated arguments, with each representative considering their own country to be top priority. It was time consuming to work out a deal that would leave the others partially satisfied... and sometimes, even that was impossible.

There was a distinct difference during this meeting, however. Andrei detected some annoyance and even hostility from the Americans and British towards their European allies. Doubtless they had already heard the news that the NATO were abandoning the cities they still had, leaving them to the mercy of the Race.

"Gentlemen, we must respond to the latest developments on the front lines." Robinson began. "I will not mince words; the tide has turned against us. Much of Europe is in their hands, their control of large parts of China and India is tightening, and both ourselves and the Soviet Union continue to lose ground. We did well during the winter, but the seasons have turned against us and with the Race's new leader, we are likely to be in for difficult times ahead. Suggestions?"

Andrei could tell that many were considering more nuclear strikes, though fewer that he would previously have thought. Even some of the hard-liners in the Soviet Union had been quieted. It was one thing to call for an all-out assault; once they saw some of their populations centers badly damaged, many changed their minds. Not all, though; some still considered it worth the price.

"What about that new ginger bomb the Russians have started using?" Harper wondered. "Reports are still preliminary, but based on what we have read and seen, the tests in both China and India are proving to be effective."

"Why won't they share it with us, then?" One of the British Generals demanded. "This could be a vitally important weapon to use against the Race, and they are keeping it for themselves."

"We are already in the process of sharing the details with your respective governments." Andrei's comrade promised. Both of them knew the Soviet Union was dragging their feet, but as long as they were maintaining the pretense of cooperation, they could plausibly say the Soviet Union was contributing. They were already looking at the post-war future and intended to come out of it stronger than ever.

"Yes, I heard a couple of your scientists went 'missing' with what coincidently happened to be the only prototype you could spare." French Colonel Pierre Travere responded sarcastically. "Amazing how you claimed you could not spare anything else from the front lines. If it wasn't for our promise of cooperation, I would think you were holding out on us."

Andrei sympathized with him, to a degree. France had few chemical weapons, which had been employed on a much larger scale after the nuclear exchange. His country faced the prospect of being overrun with invaders twice in a century. "We will send another as quickly as can reasonably be expected." Andrei promised, half-sincerely. "Please remember that we are have similar difficulties with the lizards at the moment."

They bickered over the details of the weapon, with most of the NATO representatives convinced that the Russians, Chinese, and Indians were deliberately holding back their deployment to keep the West weak. It was in some measure true; the position of the Soviet Union had been vulnerable even before the lizards arrived. The only consolation was that almost none of their enemies knew how bad their situation really was.

Andrei offered the full details of the design in exchange for three Patriot missiles. Soviet scientists were nervous about how it would compare to the S-300 and wanted and example in order to test it. Not surprisingly, they declined. He used the discussion of the others as an opportunity to think. They might have come up with it first, but the capitalists weren't stupid. Even if it took more time, they'd come up with their own version, and their leverage would be gone.

He was beginning to think that they might as well share it with the West, since they were all in this together and if they lost, no political maneuvering would ever matter again. They would soon get their own version in any case, but Andrei knew better than to disobey his superior. Prohibitions against initiative weren't nearly as strict as in Stalin's time, but they were still there, and the Politburo wanted something in exchange for the weapon. _Perhaps something small, at least a symbolic gesture of cooperation. _Andrei thought. The Soviet Union had the weapons necessary to fight; it was the economic situation that was crippling them.

"I propose that we can give you the full schematics of the device in exchange for some economic cooperation." Andrei decided to speak out. With many of their oil fields destroyed, the Soviet Union had lost a good portion of their economy. When the war was over, it would make it even more difficult to get back on their feet. He decided to reveal only the most basic details, leaving the others for when they were in private later. "Our energy production has been hampered, as have all of ours." What the Soviet Union was hoping for was to make the NATO allies at least somewhat dependent on them for petroleum. "We will give you the blueprints in exchange for not attempting to hinder us as we broaden our exports."

"I don't think that's going to be necessary." Robinson replied. Andrei was nothing short of astonished. They'd been asking for the schematics for weeks, some of the European nations offering massive sums of money and other economic incentives. "Thank you for the offer, however."

_Why would they turn it down now, unless... _Andrei suddenly realized that they managed to obtain the device on their own. Spies inside the Soviet Union were a possibility, though as a rule, the USSR had an easier time spying on their adversary than the other way around. "Think it over; no need to give an immediate answer."

"We've already got some copies, and intend to use them as soon as we can." Curtis Lemay spoke, with a furious glare at them. Andrei very much wished they hadn't brought the General out of retirement. Despite his poor health, he was a formidable presence. He was one of the commanders pushing for a full-scale nuclear attacks, unaware or indifferent to the likely consequences. "Others have already been sent to our allies." Even though his gruff exterior, Andrei could feel him smirking.

_Why did the devil's grandfather suddenly decide to do this? _Andrei thought. The only explanation was that either China or India had given them the device, likely in exchange for more military equipment. Thinking about their respective conditions, Andrei believed someone in India was the one. He made a mental note to send the information to his superiors the instant the meeting was over.

The meeting continued for another hour, but he made no more major contributions, choosing instead to focus his mental energies on the survival of the Soviet Union. In theory, they had a reserve force of close to 25 million, but in practice, they were barely able to give even mediocre equipment to half that number.

"Yes, I am well aware of this problem, Comrade." Army General Victor Denikin declared once the two of them were on a secure line. Andrei thought he sounded like he wanted to say more, but declined.

Pretending he hadn't noticed anything, Andrei asked: "Do you know who gave the West those weapons? Our intelligence indicated that they would not be able to produce their own for months and were willing to give considerable concessions for." _How could we have screwed up that badly? _

"They may deny it, but India was the one responsible." Denikin sighed. "American shipments to their harbors have increased considerably over the past days, despite their reduced fleet. Most likely, that was the exchange between the two of them. This has not been 100% confirmed, but it's the most plausible explanation."

Even through the phone, Andrei could hear bombs exploding around Denikin. If they had gotten as far north as Saratov, it meant that things were worse than he previously believed. "What am I to do now, then?" Andrei asked. Despite the risk involved, he wanted to get back into the field; he was a better commander than he was a politician.

"Continue your work and wait for a suitable opening." Denikin ordered. "In spite of our setbacks, the lizards cannot win in the long term. The Rodina will survive; the Soviet Union will survive." The line went dead immediately afterwards.

It was not hopeless, far from it, but the recent news was discouraging.

XXXXXXXXXX

March 29, 1983:

Atvar was a most unhappy male indeed. He paced around his quarters, feeling like a trapped animal. What to do, what to do? Ever since he had lost his fleetlord position, he had been confined to his ship. Most of his time was spent inside, where he could stay away from prying eye turrets.

One of his eyes went towards a corner of the room, where a sharp knife was sitting on the counter. Atvar had considered committing suicide rather than endure the shame of being the first fleetlord to be removed from his office. He had wanted to live forever in the Race's memory. He'd gotten his wish and now it was more painful than he imagined. Atvar wondered if the Big Uglies knew to be careful what they wished for; he doubted it.

Even though his depression, though, he forced himself to remember that he was still a male of the Race and he would go on serving them in whatever capacity necessary. True, he now had very limited power and he deeply resented taking orders from Straha, but he did so. The subordinates he still had disliked him, hating serving under a disgraced fleetlord.

He had been following the news of the conquest as best he could. From the latest news, the Race was advancing once again now that the seasons had changed once again, a far more dramatic process than it would have been on Home. More of the Big Uglies' territory had been taken, partially thanks to Straha's more aggressive measures. From what he had been able to ascertain, morale had reached a new high.

Atvar was still not optimistic, however. He also knew the sheer number of males being killed and wounded. Even in his ship, he could hear the moans of the wounded as overworked medics tried to get them ready for combat once again. Every male they lost could not be replaced, while the Tosevites had a seemingly endless pool to draw them. The fact that twenty-two starships were destroyed, 2.2% of the fleet, in a single day convinced him all the more.

The Tosevites' poison gas was now being used on a massive scale, close to one ton every single day. The countryside was bad enough, but when it was used in urban centers, the losses were horrifying and unlike most wounds, the Race was not experienced enough with gas to quickly return the wounded male to the front lines.

However much he hated to admit it-_ and how I despise the thought _\- a part of him hoped that Straha's failure would end up being remembered instead of his own. Even under the unusual circumstances, most of Atvar wanted to see a successful conquest to bring a fourth planet under the Empire. For the Race as a whole, it didn't matter who succeed. For Atvar, it meant a great deal. His eye turrets wandered towards the knife again.

He took two steps towards it before coming to his senses. Like it or not, he still had a duty to perform. Atvar read over the report from Ttomalass, suggesting that they negotiate with the Tosevites, mentioning that many parts of the area the natives considered unsuitable would work for the Race quite well, even taking the colonization fleet into account. The not-empires had even suggested such a route before he was overthrown.

Even though the losses they took were horrifying, the Race did appear to be winning this war. Atvar's critics were many, but they could not dispute the fact that focusing only on the major powers first appeared to be paying off. The southern half of the lesser continental mass, and the southwestern part of the main mass had been mostly ignored, save for the parts the Big Uglies called desert.

The western half of the main continental mass had been mostly conquered, with only an island not-empire still holding out. Atvar knew it was unlikely they would even be able to hold the outskirts of that not-empire, and Straha had evidently decided to wait until the two strongest not-empires had been subdued. The Big Uglies of that region had evidently decided not to use their remaining explosive-metal bombs, as their cities were essentially being used as shields. Disgusting as the tactic was, it appeared to work.

_Not that I have any say in anything now, _Atvar thought, depression rearing up once again. He still gave advice, mostly to feel like he was actually contributing to the conquest, but knew that anything he said would more than likely be ignored. Who paid attention to a disgraced superior? Kirel was one of the few who still showed him respect, even continuing to call him "Exalted Fleetlord".

He hoped that the conquest would succeed, praying to the spirits of Emperors Past that all the lives lost would not be for nothing...


	16. Chapter 16

April 20, 1983:

"Are we ever going to stop retreating?" Melanie complained, mostly to herself. The fight for Nashville had only lasted eleven days, after which the defenders retreated from the city and made their way southwest. She personally thought that they were making a strong showing, having essentially stopped the lizards' advance. However, they were ordered to evacuate the city, something that made no sense to her whatsoever.

She pulled out a ration bar both to distract herself and to give herself the energy to keep going. Before the invasion, she had no real understanding of just how exhausting war could really be. Not much of Melanie's time was actually spent in combat; it was mostly marching, boredom, and on occasion, trying to survive the lizards' air strikes.

Thomas was currently looking up at the sky worriedly. Their group was spread out as far as possible in order to provide protection from attack, from nuclear bombs in particular. Over the past three weeks, four armies on the move were hit, and an unknown number more were intercepted. The groups were spread out, so the deaths were much lower than they would have been inside a city, but even so, tens of thousands of people still lost their lives. None of them knew how many lizards were killed in return strikes.

"At least the civilians are in less danger now." Thomas replied, ironically looking at the bright side. "Guess they figured it would be more worthwhile to hit us." He looked up at the sky again. Only a few had any protective radiation clothing. Their best protection were the two surface-to-air missile launchers they had with them, and spreading out to minimize the losses.

"Yeah, but those fuckers are still using us as human shields." Katherine swore. From what news they were able to hear, Cleveland was still free of lizards, but was mostly a ruin, with both sides considering it not worth fighting over any longer. Melanie had spent some time in the city after the battle and realized that they were probably correct. "Better make them pay for that; cowards!"

"I actually heard a funny story; the lizards walked in on a guy who was having sex with a pair of blonds." Mark laughed. "Man, I wish I could have seen the looks on their faces. Those bastards; first they try to take away our planet and now they're keeping us from having sex. This world's going to hell in a handbasket; quote I heard from one of the older guys here."

"The lizards have a mating season; I don't think it would mean anything to them." Thomas pointed out. "Of course, they might find horrifying and confusing at the same time. Be nice if I knew more about how they think."

"Sure know how to suck the humor out of everything," Mark complained. "Heard this guy used to be Governor of Arkansas for a while. Good to know some of us can still have fun; just wish I was one of them."

"Figures; typical male fantasy." Katherine rolled her eyes. It didn't really bother her, though; being around a bunch of soldiers had hardened her to even the dirtiest jokes imaginable. "What else to politicians do in their spare time, anyway? Don't see them risking their lives out there."

"Maybe we can drag some of them out here, show 'em what it's like risking our damn lives." Melanie snarled. Everyone was on edge, though Mark telling his story had lightened things up a little.

"Would be nice, but it won't happen." Katherine rolled her eyes. "So where are we now?"

"I lost track days ago," Thomas admitted. "Somewhere in Tennessee and that's about all I can guess. Even that may be incorrect at this point."

"Least we finally got some reinforcements; certainly needed them." Mark responded. Last week, their force had almost doubled in size when their superiors brought in reinforcements from southern Tennessee and West Virginia. As a whole, they were better equipped and trained than the rest of them. "Probably better than we are, much as I hate to say it."

"They could afford to mess around over here, since they weren't invaded." Thomas sighed. "Up in Ohio, they barely had time to train people at all. We were lucky to receive any training at all; some didn't."

"Just wish they leave their goddamned attitude behind," Katherine snarled. Melanie couldn't help but agree. All of them had proven themselves, but the way they acted, it was like they didn't believe they were worth anything. There was a noticeable divide between them, and Melanie was not the only one to feel it.

All four of them had proven themselves in combat, despite the massive irregularities. Melanie spent as much time as she could away from them. The people she was with previously respected her as a soldier; many of the newcomers were treating her as little more than a slab of meat. Not that some people here didn't undress her with their eyes, but they were even worse, along with the attitude among many that women did not belong in combat.

"Bastards; we've all proven ourselves and they haven't done a damn thing." Angry as she was, Melanie knew enough to keep her protests quiet. The last thing they needed was to have fights breaking out. "They've had it easy. They didn't have their homes bombed, live through daily air raids, not knowing if they were going to fucking die or if something would happen to their families." Having heard nothing, she knew her parents were more than likely dead, even if she had not completely given up hope.

"We're all in this together." Thomas reminded. He was rarely away from his younger sister, at her insistence. With him around, they were less likely to hit on and proposition her. "They'll get a swift kick in the butt sooner or later."

"Can hardly wait for something to knock their heads out of their asses," Katherine snarled. Melanie did her best to endure unwanted attention, unless they got too vulgar. Katherine had no such restraint and had screamed at them more than once; it never seemed to deter them. "If anything could, which I seriously doubt. They're a bunch of morons."

"Hard to argue with that assessment," Mark agreed.

"We were worse when we started." Thomas reminded. They knew to spread out, but the newcomers had not yet figured out what could be used as cover, were unable to judge how far away an explosion was, when to fight back and when to wait, and so on. "First firefight's the hardest; they survive that, they'll have a good chance of making it through."

"I can live with that; it's treating me as a sex object that makes me want to shoot them." Melanie complained. Just as she spoke, she spotted a pair of men with their eyes going up and down her body. They'd been with the group for months and weren't the newcomers, but that didn't make it any less annoying. She bit her lip and decided to pretend she hadn't noticed anything; not like she wasn't used to it.

"Least we know who to use as human shields when the shit hits the fan," Katherine chuckled darkly.

"Yeah, one less moron in the world." Melanie agreed. She didn't actually want them dead, but it had become extremely tiring. Part of her almost wished she was in combat, so at least that kind of shit would mostly end. _Probably get that wish soon enough, _Melanie thought, deciding not to tempt fate by speaking out loud.

After a couple hours, they decided to stop and rest, with a few groups going off to hunt and get whatever food they can. Melanie would have joined them if she wasn't so exhausted. "Wait, you're actually going off?" She asked her brother in surprise. The war had changed him more than she originally thought.

"We need the food, and I'm not too picky anymore about what we get." Thomas shrugged, then took off. Katherine went with him, while Mark continued sitting next to her. She gulped down close to an entire canteen of water. Briefly, she thought about rationing, but remembered one of the NCOs who had experience in the desert mentioning that it was actually an unwise thing to do.

"This what you expected to be doing?" Mark asked.

"Hell, I'm still amazed I've actually lived through this." Melanie scoffed. Back when news was still trickling out, most people still thought that the Cold War was about to turn hot. She thought she was going to either die in nuclear fire or from the radiation poisoning that would follow. Sometimes, she thought she was a dead woman walking, someone who had already lived longer than God intended.

"Yeah, I do too, but I guess God's still got a plan for me." Mark admitted. He had never been a religious person, but ever since he disappeared, he must have seen something that convinced him. Her friend never spoke of it, even when she prodded as gently as she dared. His belief had been strengthened, while she struggled with it each and every day.

"Let's hope that plan involves living." Melanie sighed, deciding not to argue with him; she knew better than to debate with anyone about religion. She was struggling with it. While her faith still existed, the war had given it a severe beating. She laid down, wanting to relax as much as she could. The humidity wasn't as miserable now that they weren't moving.

"It could be worse, you know." Mark reminded. "We could be stuck in Los Angeles." Both of them gave a shudder at that, with Mark muttering a brief prayer for the close to three million people trapped inside. The city had been under siege almost since the invasion began, with only a few able to escape in time. Things had gotten even worse for them since the new commander of the lizards took over, who no longer allowed any food shipments. Neither knew the death toll, but knew it had to be high.

"Maybe, but things could also be better." Melanie wasn't too inclined to look at the positives, not after everything that had happened. She jumped when something became visible in the sky, but relaxed once she realized it was just a bird. You could never tell, though; that lesson had been drilled into her over and over again.

About an hour later, the stragglers came back, some of them with food, but all of them with a warning. "The lizards are nearby." Katherine warned. "About 15 klicks, more or less. Some of the locals warned us."

They had to make a decision: run or fight. The lizards had to be slowed down but few believed that they would be able to stop them in their current state. Ultimately, the Major chose to scatter his forces but stay in position, knowing that a large group of people retreating at once would more than likely draw the lizards attention.

"Least they aren't very good at knowing how to react to surprise attacks," Melanie sighed, knowing the drill by now. Melanie prepared herself as best she could. Fear was merely her companion, not her master.

"Quiet; we don't know when they're coming." Mark warned.

"Actually, considering that they have insufficient APCs to carry all their troops, I can estimate that it will be about two hours or so, taking their cautious attitude into account." Thomas mused. "This is unfamiliar territory for them, and I wouldn't move quickly through it for fear of getting cut off. Even then, we have to remember that they don't know we're here. If they did, I expect we'd be bombed right about now."

"Yeah, very reassuring," Mark replied dryly.

"Maybe they won't even come this way at all," Katherine stated hopefully. Melanie knew it was possible. If the lizards didn't know they were at this spot, they could very well continue on whatever their course was being completely unaware of them. At the same time, she didn't want to risk her life betting on it, and hence they stayed put.

Katherine very carefully took out a nerve gas canister, putting on a mask as she did so. As Thomas liked to remind them, you didn't need to breathe sarin for it to kill you, but masks at least were easy to come by. The vial was set in her pocket, her gun in one hand and a sling in the other.

Now that combat looked imminent, the newcomers were suddenly becoming a lot less cocky and arrogant, even if they didn't yet know how to hide themselves as well. Melanie became a little more sympathetic; however much she disliked them, she didn't want them dead, and it was likely that many would end up killed or wounded in the coming fight.

"Be careful with those, all right?" Thomas asked Katherine, who was handling the sarin canisters. They often used artillery delivering it, but sometimes, they resorted to more basic measures and as Katherine was the only one who could successfully use a sling, it fell on her.

"I know; stop goddamn bugging me about it!" Katherine hissed. All of them wanted to speak but did not dare for fear of bringing hostile attention on them, even though the lizard troops were around fifteen kilometers away. That did not mean that they could not be hit at any moment, perhaps by an enemy aircraft carrying nuclear weapons.

Melanie fought down the urge to run. If nukes were used, she wouldn't be able to run or hide; just hope their anti-aircraft weapons would bring it down in time. She dug a hole in the dirt with her bayonet at the prospect, using her hands as well. Dirt got clogged under his fingernails, along with some signs of blood. Mark grabbed a few sticks in order to help conceal her.

The four of them, along with other nearby soldiers, kept an eye out in all directions. While everyone knew lizards were coming their way, accounts differed as to which direction they were coming from. Electronic communication was risky, and they had no air or satellite surveillance to speak of, so they were forced to rely on ground intelligence. The enemy could be coming from the northwest, east, or south, depending on who gave the warning.

Minutes passed, each of them as long as a lifetime. Melanie's face was covered in sweat, even though there was a cool breeze. She felt like jumping at each sound from the local wildlife. Nevertheless, all of them were determined to fight if the lizards arrived. Thomas moved in front of his sister in order to protect her. She would have shoved him out of the way, save for the fact that it would have made too much noise.

"Wonder how many of them there are," Mark murmured.

"Too damn many, I'll bet." Thomas sighed. "Even one would be too damn many."

"But if they're a small group, we'll be able to beat them." Katherine reminded.

"She's got a point." Thomas admitted. "We can replace our losses more easily, though I don't know precisely how many men they have trying to conquer us." That kind of strategy came at a massive cost, however. Figures for how many Americans had died were not precisely, but most reliable estimates were between 2.5 and 3 million, on a scale that had not been seen for over 120 years.

About twenty minutes later, they heard gunfire and air strikes. All of them immediately prepped themselves for combat until they realized the sounds were distant, likely quite a few miles away. "Sounds like they either ran into someone else or they're being attacked." Mark stated. "Hopefully, the latter."

"How far away are they?" Thomas wondered."I can barely hear them."

"Sounds like a dozen miles, probably more." Melanie responded. She was relieved at being safe, and then a flash of guilt for that relief. They were safe for the moment, true, but other Americans, men and women, just like them were catching hell.

"Was about to say I'm glad, but it also means that others are going to die instead." Katherine remarked, vocalizing Melanie's feelings. "It should bother me that they're dying, but... if it's not one of us, it's almost like it doesn't matter."

"We live to fight another day, then." Thomas breathed a massive sigh of relief.

Once the Major was satisfied that they would not be detected, they began to move southwest once again. About an hour later, though, even through the trees, they spotted a mushroom cloud. Melanie stared in horror, knowing that it meant that countless Americans had been killed. "My God..." she was unable to utter anything more than that.

"Was that a city or one of our divisions?" Thomas wondered.

"Does it fucking matter?!" Katherine cursed at him. "They're dead... damn lizards! Should just nuke every one of them."

"Let's keep moving; we don't want to be exposed to any fallout." Melanie suggested, although no one needed any encouragement to do so. She wondered how much she was exposed to, but tried not to think about it. There was nothing any of them could do about it, anyway.

The conversation had become minimal, with most of the group wondering if they would be next to be hit. They spread out farther in order to protect themselves, not that Melanie thought it would do them a lot of good in the end. Had their parents been killed by those bombs? No way to know, not for sure, but she feared the worst.

They stopped at sunset, deciding to get as much rest as they could. No matter what the circumstances, they would likely be fighting again before long. Melanie promised to take as many lizards as she could with her before she died. She still hoped to make it through this, but with nukes being thrown around this way, it didn't look that likely. For the most part, she had come to terms with it, although she hadn't spoken those words to anyone else, not even her brother.

Another mushroom cloud was heard later at night, although it was far enough away that it was only barely visible. "Hope that's our bomb, teaching the lizards not to fuck with us." Katherine snarled.

"No way to tell from here, but I agree." Thomas remarked.

When Melanie was complaining to one of her superiors about their constant retreats and the lizard nuclear strikes, he responded simply: "I know it's discouraging, but we're still winning this war. Let them think they've got us on the run, that we're on the brink of collapse. We'll hit them back, but when we do, it'll be on our terms, not theirs."

XXXXXXXXXX

April 21, 1983:

"So what's our target this time?" Wuppah asked his squadmates as the males on the ground performed the final checks on his killercraft. His knowledge of Tosevite geography was limited, even though he had flown missions on a good part of the globe. All over the main continental mass, and now he was being sent to the northern half of the lesser continental mass.

"I have no idea, but it must be important." Dresn asked. Wuppah had grown to hate him, even though he was still dependent on him. Wuppah's ginger addiction had deepened as the war dragged on and on with no end in sight, meaning that he had grown quite dependent on his squadmate for his supply.

Ever since Straha had become the fleetlord, however, his fears of being caught and disciplined had decreased. While technically illegal, it often wasn't enforced so long as you were able to perform your duties competently. Those who completely let their habits get away with them were still punished, but no one else. The Race didn't have the manpower to spare, not with about two million males of the Race dead.

"Yes, they usually don't use explosive metal bombs, even now." Ristin stated. Their raid possessed five tactical weapons, spread out over five killercraft in order not to lose all of the weapons should they get shot down. Their stockpile was decreasing by the day, and they could not afford any unnecessary losses. Fifteen had already been deployed (4 strategic, 11 tactical), of which eight got through. The major population centers were now considered too well-defended to be a prime target, so they were now used on enemy military units and smaller cities.

"Just hope these ones get through," Dresn sighed. "Not like we have a whole lot to spare."

"We're ready to take off; make your checks." Chook instructed.

"It shall be done, superior sir." Wuppah responded, doing exactly what he instructed. Once he was satisfied that everyone was in working order, he took off. His eye turrets were watching the radar for any incoming enemy killercraft. More were showing up every day; the Race thought they had shot most of them down, but the Big Uglies either hid what remained or built new ones to take their place.

Their target was near the massive lakes inside the not-empire where the Tosevites had launched a successful counterattack. Thus far, neither side had the resources to push the other out of their territory and a brutal stalemate ensured. Wuppah did not know how many males of the Race had died, but since the information was deemed classified, that likely spoke a lot about how things were going.

"Be wary; they've got many anti-killercraft weapons and even killercraft of their own." Ristin warned. Everyone already knew, but it was something worth repeating. Even at the beginning, a killercraft pilot was in far more danger than anyone planning the conquest had predicted. Now you had to earn every living moment in the air. Wuppah knew it was nothing more than luck what kept him alive this long, when so many of his comrades hadn't.

_I want a taste of ginger, _Wuppah thought and pulled out a vial. He was so focused on it that he was not paying attention to his instruments and the notice that they would be reaching their target within two day-hundredth. He stuck his tongue out in anticipation, but did not yet make a move to consume the ginger. Wuppah dearly wanted it, but knew it would hinder his combat ability.

It took every bit of willpower they had, but he put the vial back into his pocket. _I'll taste later, _Wuppah promised himself. This mission was going to be dangerous enough; adding ginger to the mix was little more than suicide. The idea of meeting the emperor in the afterlife didn't frighten him, but he wanted to put that event off as long as was possible.

"Anyone see anything?" Wuppah asked, mostly thinking of missile launchers. Killercraft could be spotted from a long distance; the same was not true for their launches. Ambushes were common and the Big Uglies likely knew that they were coming.

"Not yet, but my eye turrets are watching." Dresn responded.

A few minutes later, their fears were realized as two dozen missiles were fired in their direction. Wuppah rapidly evaded and blew up one of the launchers, but the Tosevites succeeded in bringing one of the killercraft down. The attack only lasted a minute, with the Tosevites retreating and concealing their remaining launchers.

"Be nice if we could destroy all those things..." Ristin complained.

"Truth... but Tosev 3's a big place and they have numerous hiding spots." Wuppah hissed.

When they arrived near their target, their anti-air defenses were even thicker. While no enemy killercraft rose to challenge them, one of their craft carrying an explosive-metal bomb was shot down before it could evade. Wuppah launched all his air-to-ground missiles in order to take out the installations. Ristin and Dresn attacked some of the enemy landcruisers, mostly to deceive the Big Uglies about the true nature of the attack.

Not all of their missiles got through, however. Some of them were intercepted, sparing the Big Uglies below. Or so they believed at least. In a couple of minutes, the explosive-metal bombs would be launched and the Race would be able to advance once more.

"Killercraft on the way; let's hit them fast!" Chook exclaimed. There were dozens of enemy killercraft heading in their direction, more than Wuppah previously believed that the Big Uglies possessed.

Once they were in the proper position, they launched their explosive-metal bombs and immediately dived for cover, not wanting to get caught in the blast. Dresn managed to destroy another enemy missile launcher, but the Big Uglies' defenses were formidable. Two of their bombs were intercepted in mid-air, but the remainder penetrated the enemy defenses.

"By the emperor!" Ristin exclaimed. "I know what they can do, but..."

"Seeing it for yourself is sobering," Wuppah finished for him. He felt some sympathy for the thousands of Big Uglies who were dead, but it quickly passed. It wasn't as if they wouldn't gladly do the same if they had the opportunity.

"Let's get out of here; we've suffered enough." Dresn exclaimed. They retreated, but had no intention of going back to their base. The enemy killercraft were headed their way and after the bombs had been used, were not going to retreat under any circumstances.

Even so, they made sure to stay out of the range of their missiles defenses, knowing that the combination of the two could possibly lead to their defeat. "Where do they keep getting these things?" Wuppah complained, readying his killercraft. Not only did they continue to be produced, the more obsolete tpyes being phased out. They had also heard reports of a prototype that they called "Shadowcraft" which could apparently evade their radar.

There were no instructions; all the pilots were hardened veterans and knew exactly how to face the enemy. "More of them than we originally thought," Ristin worried.

The first exchange of missiles began, with both sides making their electronic warfare killercraft their top priority. Wuppah wished they had a couple explosive-metal bombs left, although none of the Race knew how effective they would be in air-to-air combat.

Two of the missiles were headed directly for Wuppah's killercraft. He fired his flares and maneuvered through the sky, nearly falling unconscious as he did so. One of the missiles was intercepted, but the other was stubbornly heading for him regardless of any action he took. Realizing that he might actually end up being hit, his fingerclaw reached for the ejector button. The missile hit a fraction of a second before he did so.

XXXXXXXXXX

April 24, 1983:

_Be nice if someone else was stuck with this job, _Reuven complained mentally. He'd rather be out fighting than meeting with the man behind the door. So far, he had been waiting for over an hour, with no indication of when he would be seen. Not that he particularly cared; he could take all the time he wanted, so far as Reuven was concerned.

He looked over the letter he had been given from his father. It was just a few lines, letting him know that he was still alive. Technically, David Goldfarb wasn't his father, but Reuven had always considered him one, even if there was the occasional guilt about being unable to remember his birth parents. He had no idea how they managed to smuggle him out of Poland, but they did.

David had moved to Israel shortly after World War II ended, where he participated in the Israeli War of Independence. That war Reuven had some rather unpleasant memories about, and even at that age, he questioned more than once whether he would end up living through it. He did, however, and most of the time, his memories of Poland were nearly non-existent.

And now his home was occupied by enemy forces, even though the Israeli Defense Forces were making life miserable for the lizards. Some wanted to use their nuclear stockpile as a last resort, but concluded that considering the small size of their nation and the lizards' ability and willingness to respond in kind, it was not worth the risk to do so. He didn't know the precise number, but they only had a couple dozen of them now; the rest were destroyed, either by the lizards or the military to prevent their capture.

Even through the thick walls of the complex, he could hear chanting outside. Reuven couldn't quite make it out, but it was more than likely calls for death to both the West and the Soviet Union. While nuclear strikes throughout the Middle East and North Africa did everything possible to minimize human casualties, many were nonetheless exposed to fallout. A few thousand had ultimately died from it.

However much it served the war effort against the Race, it had also inflamed the Middle East. Radical Islam had been a concern for decades, but over the past year, they had gained a lot more support. Israel was used to dealing with the constant danger, but most others were not. For now, most of the anger was directed towards the lizards occupying them, but once they left... they could have a whole new enemy on their hands.

Now Reuven was beginning to get impatient. However much he hated this meeting, it was nonetheless his duty and he would see it through. He was tempted to just barge into the room, but considering the enormous tensions, such an action had a decent chance of getting him shot. He was forced to give up his weapon when he entered, which made sense, however unwilling he was to part with it.

His mind wandered off, partially on the war effort, but also towards his friends. All of them had been on the front lines, and Reuven had not received any letters in months. Even with his job working for the Pershmerga and trying to make sure they, the Iraqis, and the Iranians didn't end up slaughtering one another instead, he still should have received them eventually. The silence was deafening, though he refused to give up hope.

Unlike his friends, he had no wife or children. Reuven had not even had a serious relationship in several years. Working in intelligence made it very difficult to settle down, and however difficult the job was at times, he refused to give it up. Even so, he wished that he had more success. _What a time to worry about it, _Reuven shook his head. There were far more serious issues to deal with.

It was another hour before the door finally opened. Normally, he could read the facial expressions even when people were doing their best to hide them, but today it was unnecessary. Everyone in the room was furious and made no effort to be diplomatic. They were on the verge of coming to blows.

"This is unforgivable!" Ali Sayad Shirazi screamed at the top of his lungs. Interpreters were being used, but did nothing to disguise how enraged he felt. Reuven remembered that his nickname among the Iranians was ("Mard-e-Foulad"- The Iron Man) He had played a key role in stopping the Iraqi advance into Iran a few months before the lizards arrived.

"It was an accident, I assure you." Saddam Hussein responded, although Reuven highly doubted that. Even he, who was no stranger to bloodshed, was horrified at the intelligence reports about him. At the time, Israel had considered Iraq a greater enemy than Iran, even after the Islamic Revolution, and gave them some covert support.

"Lies! Hundreds of Pershmerga are dead because of your attack!" Saman Mukri. "We warned you that our fighters are in the area, gave you information or where they were. They were too far away from the enemy to be affected... unless the attack was intentional. You have made a grievous error; Allah will punish you for such a brutal act!" Accusations and counter-accusation flew in every direction until it looked like they might actually kill one another.

"What seems to be the point of contention?" Reuven finally spoke up. He had gotten the distinct impression that they had forgotten he was there, even though he was called to help mediate their dispute.

"This... this... thing killed 500 of our men and injured twice as many with a gas attack." Mukri seemed lost for words and unable to utter a coherent sentence.

"I... see," Reuven replied, privately weighing his options. He had no doubt that the accusation was true. It would take a small miracle to keep the fragile alliance together. It existed in name only, as they sniped at one another frequently, but never an open attack on this scale.

"It was an accident, I assure you." Saddam smiled; Reuven fought the urge to knock his teeth out. "My gunners were given mistaken coordinates and we were unaware that the battlefield had changed in the meantime."

"Liar; you saw an opportunity to kill more of my people, nothing more!" Mukri snarled. "We have suffered for over a decade because of you, and this is unforgivable! You may consider our truce dissolved."

"That would be a grave mistake." Saddam replied, his voice silky with danger. "We are stronger than you, much stronger. Because of our alliance, I have been willing to overlook the 'accidental' killing of some of my soldiers. If you end the alliance, however, you will become our primary target. Satan's minions from the stars will be defeated regardless, but the people you claim to love will suffer beyond their imagination."

"Then we will withdraw as well," Shirazi warned. They didn't particularly like the Pershmerga, but they were an invaluable tool against Iraq. "You claim that you are stronger than the Kurdish." A fact which was more than likely true: "Are you stronger than the Kurdish and the Islamic Republic of Iran together?"

"Whatever its flaws, this alliance is our best hope of liberating this region from the lizards." Reuven replied, hating every word. It wouldn't break his heart to see both nations kill and exhaust one another. If they started fighting among themselves, however, only the lizards would benefit from it. "I am well aware that you have little reason to like one another, but ask yourselves: would you prefer living under the Race?"

"We will fight however long it takes for independence, no matter who our enemy is." Murki declared. "However, in this moment of treachery, we have seen what Iraq really is, and that there is no possible resolution except for blood." They went on and on for some time, with accusations, denials, and threats of retribution. This was far from the first time these issues had come up, but now there was a very real possibility that they would collapse into infighting and hand the lizards the entire region.

The rest of the Arab League, along with Turkey, were deeply concerned about that possibility and Reuven knew that he was far from the only one attempting to negotiate and maneuver them into at least teeth-clenched teamwork. The fighting between Iraq and Iran, in addition to the Kurdish insurgency, had been by far the greatest obstacle. For all their other issues, the others were at least able to recognize that they had a far greater chance of success if they presented a united front.

"What would it take for you to continue fighting the lizards as a single force?" Reuven asked. He knew he shouldn't have been so open, but diplomacy was not one of his talents. That, and the time of obfuscation was long past. "All of us remember our own quarrels, but living under the lizards would be even worse." Although very much in the minority, some in the Middle East preferred their rule to the dictators who were formerly in power.

"I suppose... if he gives us a formal apology for the... accidental killing, along with sufficient compensation, that we can continue with our current plans for resistance." Shirazi spoke extremely reluctantly. By his tone of voice, he would much rather have been killing Iraqis, but he was reasonable enough to shift priorities. Murki looked hesitant, but slowly nodded, although his eyes still gleamed with fury.

Reuven knew his response could mean the difference between stability and collapse. Every party to the talks waited several moments for his answer. Finally, he spoke: "In principle, we do not reject cooperation against our common enemy." He hadn't actually said anything, but they were not about to get anything more out of him. The Pershmerga were more fragmented and even if their leaders agreed, some of their militias might very well disobey.

"We did nothing wrong, but in the interests of good relations, I will apologize and compensate the families of the accident." Saddam sighed. "The lizards will fail, and we will make them dearly regret that they ever decided to invade us."

Once Reuven was over, he planned on speaking to his contacts to do everything possible to keep members of the Pershmerga from seeking revenge, even though he'd likely do the same had he been in their position. Defeating the lizards was much more important than any sort of personal concerns. _Now I just hope all sides listen, _He thought.

XXXXXXXXXX

April 27, 1983:

Rafael Montes woke up with his stomach growling. This was nothing new for him. He had developed far too much familiarity with it over the last year. Knowing that there was no way he was going back to sleep, he hoisted himself out of bed and began wondering around their apartment.

He walked into the kitchen, tempted to gulp down his entire ration in one setting, but refrained. Two months ago, rations had been cut down to 1,200 calories a day per person, barely enough to sustain themselves. At the age of 14, it was far too little to sustain him, but even at such a young age, he knew that he was luckier than some.

Rafael grabbed a glass of water from the bucket and began to gulp it down. They were on the fourth floor of the apartment, and whether they could get running water was always a dubious proposition, so his father had grabbed the biggest pots and pans and filled them to the brim. He finished the first glass and quickly obtained a second, trying to distract himself from his hunger.

The apartment was completely dark; they had not had any electricity in months. However, Rafael had been used to it for some time and wandered through the small hallway without trouble. On the other side of his room, he could hear his younger sisters Bianca and Magdalena, continue to snore away. They were only ten years old and he felt an obligation to protect them as best he could.

Noises could be heard in the distance, most likely air strikes. The lizards, despite everything they threw at Los Angeles, were unable to take the city. Instead, it had been besieged almost from the day the aliens landed. Atvar had been willing to allow food shipments into the city to keep the population from starving, but Straha had rescinded that policy almost immediately after he became fleetlord. Even so, Los Angeles stayed stubborn, with its defenders and citizens refusing to surrender.

Rafael didn't recall falling asleep once more. He must have, however, for when he opened his eyes, the sun was out and the rest of his family was awake. "Good morning, son." His father Edwardo responded. Even though he had gotten accustomed to the sight, he was still frightened at the change in him. Before the invasion, his father had been very overweight, a fact his peers at school had mocked him for. Now he was almost as thin as a rail.

"How are you feeling?" His mother Evelyn asked. His father was Hispanic, but his mother was white. She was also around four years older than him, making their pairing slightly unusual. "We're about to have breakfast; sit at the table."

Each member of the family took out half of their daily rations, saving the rest for the afternoon. The sight of food gave Rafael a very sharp pain in his stomach. He was almost ready to just wolf it down, but his parents led a brief prayer first before they ate. He closed his eyes and prayed to God for the siege to end.

Rafael ate his food in less than a minute. It was a couple ounces of spam, along with some canned green beans. He was still hungry when he finished, but it was no longer overwhelming him as it had before. Bianca and Magdalena were more able to survive on it due to their young age, but even they were constantly hungry.

He wouldn't confront them about it, but he had a suspicion that his parents were giving some of their rations to both himself and his sisters. A large part of him wanted to demand that they stop, as the prospect of them dying was almost too much for him to bear. The more selfish part of his mind told him to accept the food anyway, because it made the days go by a little easier.

"It's time for me to go to work." His father announced. "I'll be back tonight."

"Be careful out there," His mother responded. That was good advice even before the lizards arrived. East L.A. was not known for its safety, and now that they were under siege, there were a lot of desperate people out there. Technically, they had martial law, but most of the soldiers were busy keeping the lizards from entering, and those who remained were insufficient to police the entire city.

"Thank you, sweetie, but I'll be fine." He gave her a brief kiss and walked out the door. He worked in one of the factories churning out tanks and aircraft, which were then either put on ships to send elsewhere in the country or sent to the frontlines on the outskirts of the city.

Having little else to do, he decided to read the books his family had in their possession. There were only a handful, despite the fact that both his parents enjoyed reading. Rafael never had any great interest in it, except for when he had to go to school, but it was better than wandering inside the house all day.

"Mama, can we meet up with our friends?" Bianca pleaded. "I promised them I'd play at their house!"

"Yes, please, Mama, don't keep us trapped in here all day!" Nena begged. Rafael could tell that his mother wanted to completely refuse. Even in the daytime, it wasn't exactly safe out there, both with lizard air strikes and gangs wandering around desperate for food. His mother had a loaded pistol in the bedroom for just such an occasion.

After several moments, she finally said: "All right, but Rafael's walking you there. Rafael, stop what you're doing and get ready to go."

"Give me a few minutes," He asked, getting his shoes on along with a change of clothes. All of them were in poor condition; the soles of his shoes were on the verge of falling out, while only one of his shirts were free of holes. With food the main focus of survival, clothes were of low priority. He was tempted not to bother with the shoes; they hurt his feet every time he took a step.

"Mom, after I've dropped them off, I'm going to go fishing at the river." Rafael announced. He intended to go whether he got her permission or not. Although he could not bring himself to refuse, he felt some guilt over eating part of his parents' rations and wanted to contribute to the family in any way he could.

"Good luck, Rafael." She told him, hugging all her children tightly. In a couple hours, she would be lining up with the rest of the neighborhood to receive food that was being airlifted in; how much got through varied from day to day. The lizards shot down as many of the planes as they could. "Be safe."

"I'll be fine, Mom, I promise." Rafael told her. His sisters were getting impatient, so he walked out the door. As the elevator was no longer working, they used the stairs instead and his shoes pinched him each time he took a step. _I shouldn't have even bothered with them, _he sighed to himself. Next time, he wouldn't.

Even though he had seen it hundreds of times before, Los Angeles was nevertheless a shocking sight to behold. Even in a poor neighborhood, Rafael was used to seeing cars in every direction, buses going along the street, along with the all-too-familiar stench of pollution. All of that was gone now. Every drop of gasoline was restricted for the war effort.

Nena and Bianca were chattering excitedly, having been unable to spend time with their friends for weeks. Even with the massive hardships, they were mostly happy; Rafael wished he could say the same. Both were going hungry, yes, but to a lesser extent than the older members of the family. Bianca even expressed regret that she was no longer able to attend school. He didn't know whether to pity or envy his younger sisters.

"Come on, keep up, slowpoke!" Bianca teased him. Unable to handle it any more, Rafael pulled his shoes off his feet. He sighed with relief; his feet began to feel better almost immediately. The concrete was hard, yes, but easier than wearing his old shoes.

"I hope Freddy's there too; he's cute." Nena smiled, thinking about her best friend's cousin. Rafael felt sorely tempted to bash the kid's face in. Both of them were only ten, but he still didn't want any guys near his younger sister.

"You actually let him beat you in Trouble." Bianca laughed, referring to the board game the twins were fond of. The two of them were practically skipping, moving fast enough that Rafael had difficulty keeping up with them.

About halfway there, the trio stumbled onto a dead body. The man, whoever he was, clearly hadn't been dead very long. His body had already been stripped of clothes, food, and whatever else was considered valuable. Bianca and Nena looked at him for a few seconds, but otherwise paid him no mind. It had became a common sight in their neighborhood over the past couple of months.

He wondered what had become of Aunt Paulina, Uncle Santiago, and his cousins, Miguel, Jesus, and Luis. Unlike his own parents, they had attempted to evacuate the city before the lizards encircled and attempted to capture it. That was close to nine months ago; they had heard no word of them since. Rafael did not know whether they succeeded in fleeing or if they had died like so many others who attempted it.

"I'll see you this evening." Rafael promised, hugging his sisters.

"Good luck!" Nena waved. "Hope you catch lots of fish!"

"Here, this should help you out." Bianca handed him a net. "I made it during arts and crafts." Back when they were going to school, she had shown an amazing ability in it. She could sew, she could knit, and could make knots tight enough to hold anything. Rafael took the net, still having difficulty believing that a ten year old could have made that.

Once his sisters were dropped off, Rafael began to wander down to the river. The trip would be at least three miles, but he was desperate enough for food that he was willing to make the trip. He had a small net that Bianca had crafted in order to catch fish, since he had no fishing rod and even if he did, there was no bait to be found.

When he arrived, it was obvious that Rafael was far from the only one who decided to use the river as a source of food. There had to be tens of thousands of people fishing even in this localized area, some of them even more desperate than his family. _How am I going to catch anything out there? _He asked himself, feeling close to despair.

Even so, he walked through the shallow part of the river, swinging his net back and forth in an effort to catch fish. Rafael bumped into a pair of kids that couldn't have been more than 8, actually feeling around with their hands in their effort to catch food. He looked at the two of them with pity. He was hungry and his clothes fit only loosely on them, but they were starving. They hadn't eaten in days, as evidenced by their increasing desperation. The only thing they had to wear was an old pair of shorts, allowing him to count each and every one of their ribs.

Rafael did his best to ignore them; it was far from the first time he had seen such a sight. Day by day, more were making themselves apparent. It wasn't easy, though, and made him wonder if he was looking at his own future in those boys.

He walked deeper inside, to where the water was up to his neck. He had some swimming lessons, but not enough to go long distances. Rafael ducked his head under the water, hoping to see at least some sign of life. In every direction, the only things he saw were other people trying to catch fish. _Where the hell are they? _He wondered. Rafael was beginning to realize that it was quite possible that the residents of the city had already eaten them all.

From the sounds of it, it looked like some who were fortunate enough to have boats were having better luck, but most were not. Rafael considered stealing from them when they finished, his hunger getting the better from them again, but all the fishing boats were carrying guns as well, making it very risky to try and take anything from them.

Rafael searched for an unknown amount of time and finally spotted a single fish, but it swam away before he could do anything about it. Those that remained after being hunted by desperate, starving people had excellent survival instincts. Tears of frustration and fear ran down his face; he had failed, failed to catch anything, to provide any sort of relief for his family.

He swam back to the shore, where gunshots broke out. Everyone scattered for cover, trampling each other in their haste to get away. Weak from hunger and exhausted from his search for food, Rafael was barely able to move, lying down on the beach and praying that whoever fired the gun wouldn't notice him. He had been forced to do this a couple times before the invasion, but here, he had no place to take cover.

His eyes were partially closed, but Rafael could still make out the people responsible. They were a young man and woman, holding a small fish in their hands as they sped off, happy that they had at least something small to eat now.

Once Rafael was satisfied he was out of danger, he got to his feet. The murder had taken place only a couple hundred feet away. The boy who was murdered had been even younger than himself, who was simply unlucky enough for people to notice him catching a fish. _Probably doing the same thing I was, _Rafael sighed. He had been forced to grow up quickly and thus, he had no belief that he was invincible that most adolescents at his age possessed.

He slowly walked back to his home, tears littering his eyes. All of that, all for nothing. Rafael told himself to tell his parents to stop giving him their share of the rations, even if his stomach roared in protest. He wanted to live, but he also didn't want to see his mom and dad die trying to save him. The ration card everyone was given were for families, not the size of them.

Rafael shivered from the cold water, even though it was a warm day. He had nothing to warm himself up with, and bit his lip to keep himself from moaning in sheer misery. He forced himself to keep going, walking one step at a time. He knew the way, but he intended to clean himself up and rest before picking up his sisters. Rafael refused to let them see him that way, even though their innocence had been long since shattered.

"Did you find anything, Rafael?" Evelyn asked, grabbing towels to dry him off. She had expected him to be in miserable shape and wished she could have refused him, but there were times that even maternal instincts bowed to the desire for food.

"No, Mama, I'm sorry." Rafael began to cry again, try as he might to hold back the tears. "I couldn't find anything." He decided not to tell her about the murder he had witnessed and feared that he would be one of the victims of.

"It's ok, sweetie; you did everything you could." Evelyn promised. "Are your sisters still at their friends'?" Rafael nodded. "We're going to pick them up when it gets to be sunset, ok?" He spotted some food in the corner, the proceeds from the airlifts that were occurring every single day.

His mind screamed at him to resist, but his body refused to obey and before even thirty seconds had passed, Rafael had already eaten his entire food allotments for the day. Like before, his hunger still existed, but it was not tearing at him any longer. Instead, the guilt got to him, as some of his mother's rations were very likely in that corner.

Shortly before sunset, his father came home, looking utterly exhausted. Edwardo simply collapsed into a chair, wanting nothing to do but relax. Rafael quickly handed him his food, still fighting the urge to eat it himself. His father thanked him and ate, but much more slowly. "Are Nena and Bianca still at their friends'?" He asked.

"Yes, we received a telephone call from them about an hour ago." Evelyn informed. "I was just about to go and get them."

"No need; I'll do it." Edwardo volunteered, looking at his wife disapprovingly. He wouldn't say it openly, but Rafael had no trouble seeing his father disapproved of letting them stay out as late as they did. Exhausted as he was, he got to his feet and pocketed the gun in his pocket. Curfew was in less than an hour, so he knew he had to hurry. Some soldiers would merely detain you, but others would assume you're a looter or gang member and shoot you.

"Do you need me to come with you?" Rafael asked. His father was exhausted and he worried about him being out there alone with the sun going down, even if he was still a relatively young man at age 40.

"Thank you, but I'll be fine." Edwardo declined. With a groan that he was unable to quite suppress, he walked out the door in order to fetch his daughters. Rafael couldn't help but worry regardless and was tempted to run out after him, however furious he would have been with Rafael's behavior.

His mother sensed the urge and grabbed his arm, shaking her head at him. "He'll be fine; they'll be home soon enough." Evelyn promised. She was worried, too, although to a lesser degree. With the light almost gone, Rafael was unable to read anything and counted himself lucky that there was still enough light for him to find his way around.

He came back around half an hour later, by which point the apartment had gone completely dark. "What the hell is wrong with you two?" He screamed at his daughters. "Do you have any idea what might have happened?"

"He brought us food!" Bianca protested. "Now we can have a real meal!"

"That guys' awesome!" Nena agreed. "I'll pray for him tonight." Once he learned of the content of their discussion, Rafael's interest was piqued. How did they actually manage to obtain food? Why would anyone give such a precious commodity to a complete stranger.

"What have I told you again and again about suspicious people?" Edwardo demanded. "Yes, I'm grateful he gave you two food, but he could just as easily have done something horrible!" Spending his entire life in a high-crime neighborhood had made him rather paranoid, even before the siege began. Seeing a stranger, particularly one who looked like he had gang affiliations, was a sign to prepare to fight or run for your life. His anger began to cool, however. "Since he was kind enough to share this with us, however, it'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

Whoever it was had given his twin sisters four oranges and half a dozen potatoes, enough for two meals if they ate carefully. Rafael split an orange with his father, enjoying the sweet taste. He had not eaten one for over a year and indeed, had almost forgotten what it tasted like. His body was shocked at the taste of the food and his stomach temporarily rumbled from it, nearly vomiting up the contents.

Due to his exhaustion from his much less successful search for food, Rafael went to bed at an earlier hour than was typical. He looked out at the stars, wondering which ones the lizards had come from. _Wish those bastards had stayed there, _He thought.

Before and during the siege, Rafael had seen the worst of humanity. People fighting over scraps, loved ones killing each other for small morsels of food. Even at his young age, he was starting to believe that everyone in the city were little more than animals. Learning that wasn't so relieved a great burden on his heart, and he began to realize that perhaps there was some decency in people after all.


	17. Chapter 17

May 18, 1983:

Betvoss could simply not believe what he was seeing. Intelligence had no warning against this, even taking into account their often imperfect predictions on Tosev 3. He had been close to death half a dozen times just in the last few days, and he was still not completely recovered from the previous gas attack.

"Where did the Big Uglies get all these landcruisers?" Betvoss complained as his squad retreated once again. Shiyan had already been retaken by the Big Uglies and they had been forced to retreat to Zhongxiang. Now this city looked to be retaken by the Big Uglies as well.

As he spoke those words, another troopcarrier burst into flames. The new landcruisers the Chinese Tosevites had produced were still considerably inferior to the Race's landcruisers, but the so called "Type 80" tanks were nonetheless a big improvement from what they had previously. Add that to the fact that the Race had only a few landcruisers in the city, and it was a recipe for enormous trouble.

"They're advancing once again!" Votal warned. Apart from Betvoss, he had been the only survivor of the gas attack, as an antidote had been given to him in time to save his life. Just like Betvoss, his muscles and body ached terribly when forced to do anything strenuous, like the situation they now found themselves in. Suppression fire forced many of them in place, ruining any hopes of a counterattack.

Knowing that the Big Uglies intended to pin them down in order to get their troops into position, Betvoss moved to the left in anticipation, hoping their snipers would be able to take out at least some of their machine-gunners. He fired a few shots in their direction, knowing he likely wasn't going to hit anything, but wanted to at least cause a lull in the fire.

Not only did the Chinese have more landcruisers, they had more and better-equipped troops than they did at the start of the conquest. The Race still had body armor, whereas they did not, allowing them more safety than they would have otherwise had, but it was steadily eroding. Barely half the Race's troops possessed it, although Betvoss was lucky enough to be one of them.

Less than ten meters away, one of his fellow males took three bullets to the chest. Medics rushed over, but he could tell they would not be able to save him. The order was given to fall back once more in order to avoid being overwhelmed. To provide them with cover, killercraft bombed the Chinese positions, stopping the advance in its tracks. Their AA guns did little good against them, for which Betvoss thanked the emperor.

They only had limited ammunition, however, and could not bomb them for long. Once they flew off in order to reload, the Chinese began to advance again. Betvoss hid behind the wood from a destroyed house, while everyone else spread out as far as they could. The city they were fighting in was large, but much less dense than other population centers they had fought in.

Votal threw a grenade at the nearest Chinese squad, then swiftly ducked his head down to avoid reprisals. "We're badly outnumbered out there." Votal warned; the fact his superior was expressing worry was a very bad sign. Betvoss double-checked his gas mask, making sure it was secure. He wore thick Tosevite clothing in hopes of protecting, but even it would not be enough under a heavy gas barrage.

For the next 20 minutes, artillery pounded their position, with the Race's counterbattery fire taking out as much of their equipment as they could reasonably do. They had only 10,000 Males of the Race in the city at the start of the battle, and it was likely considerably less now. Their hovering killercraft raked the Chinese positions, killing hundreds, but while more effective, they were also more miserable. One of them was shot down with all aboard, while two others were forced to retreat, trailing smoke.

During the barrage, the Tosevites were once again attempting to outflank and surround them. Almost all the natives inside the city were against the Race and would inform the soldiers exactly where their positions were. Betvoss was part of a team assigned to try and intercept them before they succeeded. It was a major gamble, but if they didn't, all the males of the Race would be surrounded and annihilated.

For a surprising amount of time, they encountered no significant resistance. Betvoss knew that would change, especially since many of the houses were too small for its to give sufficient cover on the street. Himself, Votal, and their new squadmates Utriel, Noman, and Nesser cautiously moved down the street. Squads spread out, all covering one another.

Their killercraft returned and made another pass on their flanking attempt. This time, though, their guns managed to shoot one of their craft down. Betvoss prayed that the pilot would not end up in Chinese custody. No one knew how true the stories of what they did to their captives were, but none of them wanted to chance finding out.

A sniper struck Noman in the leg, making him scream in agony, and forcing the others to dive for cover. Betvoss wanted to help his comrade, but knew that was precisely what the sniper was hoping for. He turned his gun out and fired an entire clip at where he thought the sniper was, but he doubted that it would do any good.

None of them dared move out of their current position. All of them shot at the sniper, but he was at least a few hundred meters away, out of their weapons' effective range. Betvoss wished they had knocked down the tower before the attack, but the Race didn't have nearly as many munitions as they would like to destroy everything that posed a threat to them.

"I'm telling you, we need an artillery strike now!" Votal screamed into the radio. "We're pinned down by a sniper; we can't advance or retreat and the cursed Big Uglies are threatening to completely surround us!"

"What are we going to do now?" Utriel worried. Before being transferred, he had been serving in Vietnam and Thailand, which their superiors thought would assist their counterinsurgency efforts (a word they had to borrow from the Big Uglies). Now that the Chinese had geared up to a wartime economy, the fight had taken a much darker turn.

Noman continued to moan in pain, trying to crawl out of the way, but unable to move more than a few inches. Nesser fired his rifle again in a desperate attempt to kill the sniper, but none of them could tell if they had hit anything. Nobody wanted to chance finding out, either.

The fighting was getting closer, indicating that their attempt at a counterattack had been halted. Betvoss thought it over, wondering whether or not to assist his wounded comrade. He looked through his scope and saw no sign of him in the tower, not that it meant very much. "What do we do, superior sir?" Betvoss asked.

Votal hesitated before answering, a bad sign indeed. "An artillery strike does not appear to be forthcoming, and a killercraft strike is an even more remote possibility." He stopped to think. If they retreated, at least one of them would likely be shot. If they advanced, death would be almost certain, and Noman was not close enough for them to drag him to safety. "I'll bring him to safety and then we fall back. When I give the order, give me as much covering fire as you can."

"It shall be done," The uninjured members of the squad spoke together. They looked at each other, dubious over how well it would work, but obeyed. The instant he gave the order, everyone fired in the general direction of the sniper while Votal crawled on the ground to rescue Noman. He hoisted the male on his shoulder, groaning as he did so, and slowly dragged him into cover.

"You did well; thank you." Votal praised, looking at Noman's wound and bandaging it up, putting pressure to stop the bleeding. He took out a vial and injected him in order to stop the screaming. "Not fatal, but he'll be out of action for some time. May the spirits of emperors past grant him strength." Everyone lowered their eyes at the mention of their sovereign.

Later investigation found that the sniper had simply shot Noman in the leg and ran off, leaving them thinking that the tower was still occupied and slowing the Race down without even being physically present. Betvoss cursed the Big Uglies' gift of deception.

The counterattack had been a complete failure, even if the Big Uglies had been temporarily pushed back in some isolated areas. Males of the Race who were tasting ginger during combat were almost all killed or captured. The Big Uglies in this region were now combat-hardened and better equipped than they had been the previous Tosevite year.

"If we don't retreat soon, we're going to be surrounded." Nesser worried, taking cover from artillery bombardment. Betvoss thanked the emperor that the Big Uglies here did not have killercraft in large numbers or the fighting would become even more difficult than it was already.

"Our superiors know what they're doing better than we... I wish I could believe that." Utriel admitted. Although Betvoss had never pushed the issue, it was obvious to him that Utriel was a ginger taster. Unlike in some cases, it did not decrease his effectiveness in combat. The artillery bombardment was intensifying and all of them made doubly sure that their gas masks were on good and tight.

Betvoss asked where the counter-battery fire was, but he was beginning to realize that it was simply too overwhelming. Some of the Big Uglies' equipment was destroyed, but not enough to make any difference in the long run. One of their landcruisers were visible, its main gun pounding the Race positions, then retreating before they were able to do anything about it.

That night, Betvoss and his squad were airlifted out of the city, although a hand-held anti-aircraft weapon nearly shot the hovering killercraft down. One of the others weren't so lucky and crashed with no survivors. His superiors were trying to put a positive spin on things, but the fact remained that this was an evacuation, nothing more.

The evacuation was going slowly. What remained of their garrison was now completely surrounded by the Big Uglies and they were being assaulted mercilessly. Close of half of their hovering killercraft had been shot down over the course of the attempted conquest and they had few to spare on this front. "Where are we heading to now?" Betvoss asked.

"Can't be worse than what we just escaped, by the emperor." Utriel sighed with exhaustion.

"I'm guessing you never served in the United States." Betvoss responded, the severity of the situation wearing on his nerves. "They had better equipped men, more advanced weapons, and more industrial capacity. The only advantage we had is we actually had enough males to properly patrol the regions we conquered.

"Shut your mouths," Votal ordered, intending to end the upcoming fight. Both Betvoss and Utriel were inclined to quarrel, but he was their superior, so they shut up.

"Which city are we heading to now?" Nesser wondered.

"We'll find out soon enough." Betvoss sighed, looking out the windows of the craft. Under every building they passed, he saw a missile coming in their direction. Not for the first time, he wished he had a taste of ginger, even if he had never become addicted like so many of his fellow males.

Six days later, those they were unable to evacuate were captured. 4,000 males of the Race surrendered and the Chinese were marching towards Wuhan. The Race had given up the smaller towns and cities around it except for areas that were considered crucial to their defense to free up as many as they reasonably could.

XXXXXXXXXX

May 29, 1983:

"And that is our proposal," Colonel James Green informed his Soviet counterpart.

"It's not a bad idea, but are you certain of your intelligence?"Nikita Fyodorov wondered, wanting to be sure of the information. His own intelligence operatives had made similar findings, but for such a risky operation, they had to be positive. If it failed, hundreds of thousands were likely to die as a result.

"We've been monitoring their communications for over a month." Green explained. Unlike many officers, he spoke fluent Russian and did not need an interpreter. "We're as certain as we can reasonably be, and the President believes that the gains far outweigh the risks.

Andropov was slightly skeptical, but Reagan and Thatcher had convinced him to go along with the plan. With losses mounting, the two superpowers began more genuine cooperation. Not in every arena, of course, but far more so than they were previously. "Which targets have you identified?" Fyodorov inquired. He waited to see if it matched their own intelligence findings.

"According to their intercepted messages, this is where they're storing their stockpile of nuclear weapons." Green explained, pointing to telescope images of the Race's fleet currently orbiting around Earth. The five starships they identified as carrying weapons were circled in red. "They're spread out among their fleet, and around the planets, so we cannot hit them all at the same time. With your assistance, however, we can hit their ships and destroy their stockpile before they know what we're up to."

"Do you know just how many of their weapons are stored onboard their ships?" Fyodorov asked. The KGB and GRU had both stated that the number of weapons the lizards possessed was much smaller than they had previous estimated, but none of them could give an exact number. It varied anywhere from a couple hundred to a couple thousand, far too big a variation for his comfort.

"We have no precise estimates for all of them, but we intercepted a message stating that this ship here currently carries fifteen nuclear bombs." Green informed.

"Assuming the General Secretary agrees to your terms, when do you wish to attack?" Fyodorov demanded. It was a sound plan, despite the many risks involved. Most of their strategic nuclear weapons had been destroyed, save for the ones on their submarines. The United States was in a similar position, though neither side knew for certain precisely how many they had left.

Their tactical weapons had been reduced in number as well, but to a much lesser degree percentage-wise. Even since Straha had taken over, the Soviet forces had been hit with eight nuclear weapons, along with an unknown number that had either been intercepted in mid-air or destroyed on the ground with their air force. On average, a nuclear weapon was used almost once a week by each side, again not including ones intercepted or destroyed.

"We consider the best time to be in two hours; will your forces be ready by then?" Green asked.

"We will be prepared, but I am concerned about the debris from the starship falling to earth." Fyodorov pointed out. After the first strike, thousands of tons of debris fell to earth, along with several melted starships, whose impact was as destructive as a nuclear bomb. It was only sheer luck that none of them hit any major population centers; most crashed into the oceans or Antartica instead. "There is a reason we refrained from launching more, even if we still have the capability." They had developed fourteen nuclear tipped anti-satellite missiles since. At only 20 kilotons, even if everyone inside the ships would be killed, the debris would be mostly intact. "Do you have a way to avoid that?

"The president's taken that into consideration." Green informed. "We intend to use what remains of our Titan II missiles, which we believe are of a high enough yield to completely vaporize their starships, leaving almost nothing behind."

"What do you mean, almost?" Fyodorov glared. His subordinates said nothing, merely waiting for him to decide what to do. "I would hope you would know better than to simply leave things to chance."

"The amount of heat and radiation the ships can absorb is currently unknown." Green informed. "We know they're vulnerable to large projectiles, but we have less knowledge about their heat resistance." Fyodorov knew that; more than one starship had been brought down by a pilot smashing his plane directly into the ship or an Intermediate Range Ballstic Missile hitting its engine.

"I will have to consult with my superiors before I decide anything." Fyodorov warned, though if he was asked for his recommendation, he would give the affirmative. It sounded like a good plan; if the lizards lost their nukes, they would become much more vulnerable to attack. They had only 10 extremely high yield nukes left, but they were more than sufficient to vaporize the lizard starships.

If the lizards did indeed lose what remained of their nuclear arsenal, victory would be theirs. They could either drop nukes on them without them having an ability to retaliate or could simply use it as a threat to persuade them to leave Earth. Would it work, though? "As I understand it, you are simply launching missiles at their starship you believe to possess nuclear weapons?" When Green nodded, he continued: "The lizards may not be skilled in the tactical sense, but they're no fools. If you aim only at their bomb-carrying starships, they'll figure out that we're reading their codes and change them, making it more difficult to try this in the future." And less worth enduring the certain retaliation the lizards would use.

"Yes... that is worth considering." Green nodded. "They will strike heavily, especially if they realize what we're up to."

"Use some decoys, hit random ships as well that do not have their arsenal inside them." Fyodorov suggested. "It'll make it less likely for them to figure out what we've done. Even with this precaution, they will likely discover it, but it will at the very least buy us some time." Green left to send the message, while Fyodorov waited to hear back from his superiors.

He hated having to store an enemy inside one of the locations of their few remaining missile silos, but Fyodorov did everything possible to keep them from learning anything the Soviet Union did not want discovered. Each side knew where the other's silos were in their respective nations and both were prime targets, although the lizards had beaten them to it.

One of the areas where the two former opponents were cooperating was in ballistic missile defense. The American President had recently talked about something called the Strategic Defense Imitative, a plan to neutralize even a massive nuclear strike. It horrified the Soviet Union, especially since many of the ideas were those that their scientists had no hope of duplicating. The Politburo insisted that the Americans could not be that far ahead of them, but nobody knew what the real truth was.

They were therefore grateful that at least some genuine cooperation was beginning. The Soviets had sent their ginger bomb design to NATO, as well as some badly needed oil for the war effort, and in return, Western scientists were assisting their Soviet counterparts with a more effective missile defense. The anti-ballistic missile treaty had prevented serious efforts of development, as had putting several warheads on a single missile, but now it was making a comeback.

Several minutes later, the confirm order had been received to launch their remaining missiles. Fyodorov sent the order again to doubly confirm, as was policy. Almost everyone wanted very strict controls when dealing with such heavy firepower, although a few were unhappy about it, claiming it made a counterattack against an American first strike more difficult.

However much he wanted to pace around, he waited; such an action was considered very undisciplined for a Soviet officer. Close to an hour later, approval was once again granted. He sent the orders to his subordinates. Now as long as they all agreed to it, they would be able to teach the lizards a serious lesson. It took a minimum of four people to turn the keys to launch the missiles. The keys were turned and they waited for the targeted ships to orbit over them.

XXXXXXXXXX

Straha looked at the current situation which was not pleasant, to use a dramatic understatement. With his more aggressive measures, he was certain that he could break what remained of the Big Ugly empires. Atvar might have been incompetent and willing to surrender at the first blow, but he was not.

At the same time, casualty rates were climbing still higher, something he had not previously imagined possible. Now the death toll was close to three million, with another 1.5 million out of action due to wounds. Another 1.15 million were also prisoners of war. Part of that was due to the enormous number of ginger addicts. Straha kept as many of them as he could on the front lines, since removing them would have caused even more severe manpower problems, but they were often overconfident and walked into easily avoidable traps.

According to the local commanders, the loss ratio was also falling. In the United States, it had fallen from around 3:1 in the Race's favor to 2.5:1, a major setback considering their much larger population. Enemy killercraft were being seen in the air once again, and they had only shot down a handful of what they labeled shadowcraft, ones that somehow managed to evade radar. In the USSR, it was down to 3:1, only scarcely better odds.

In the Great Lakes Region, not only were they unable to advance, but his forces had a dreadful time staying alive. Seventeen explosive-metal bombs had been used by both sides, but it was still a stalemate, which worked to the Big Uglies' advance. Los Angles, despite close to half a million troops surrounding and attempting to take the city, was still holding on. They were advancing in the south and west, but they had been slowed almost to a crawl.

The USSR had almost completely cleared the Race from Siberia, with only a few poorly-supplied bases still holding out. Straha knew that no matter what he did, they were likely to fall. _I'll have to order an evacuation, _Straha thought, hating every word.

He was hoping that conquering the western half of the main continental mass, what the natives called Europe, would be a step in the right direction. The losses were still at a 3:1 ratio there, and the Race was too thin on the ground to control anything but the major cities. Even that sometimes proved to be an illusion. His threat to drop explosive-metal bombs on all their major population centers persuaded them to stop fighting in urban areas, but had done nothing to pacify the region. Straha had hoped to decrease his forces there in order to defeat the other not-empires, but if he did, the entire occupation would likely come crashing down.

China was rapidly becoming a disaster. The Race had mostly dismissed them as having a minimal industry, even if their population of one billion had stunned them. At the beginning, most of them were poorly-trained and badly led, with even infantry weapons hard to come by. It was only its massive size and population that made it difficult to pacify the area.

Now, though, the situation was completely different. Straha had not believed that they had the potential for so much production, but he had never been one to deny facts. Not only were Males of the Race failing to advance, they were having a desperate time staying alive. All the counteroffensives he had ordered had done little to stop their advance. Numerous cities had fallen and others were barely holding out. He was unable to pull any troops from occupied area in China that the Race did manage to take due to extensive guerilla activity.

"Well, in that case, I'll just have to get reinforcements from..." Straha's train of thought was abruptly shattered. The problem was: from where? He had pulled males of the Race from fighting the two strongest not-empires and could hardly pull more. The southeastern half of the main continental mass was proving difficult to control, as the jungle was extremely inhospitable to males of the Race. The Tosevites there were even beginning to score some local victories. He could not afford to pull anyone out.

In India, the situation was scarcely better. The Race had been halted, even though the climate was favorable to them. Only a small part of the subcontinent remained in Big Ugly hands, but their military had improved its performance and was stubbornly holding onto the remaining cities. There were even some localized offensives that were retaking territory that the Race had gained.

"By the emperor!" Straha cursed as he considered his next move. At this point, there were no good options available to him. With the change of the weather of Tosev 3, he had expected to be able to use the Race's superior position in order to gain more territory. That was proving to be more optimistic than the situation warranted.

But he refused to give up the fight. He searched the computer for Tosevite cities that had significant military garrisons inside them in order for another nuclear intervention. Another ten targets had been chosen, including two in China and one in India. He would teach them to respect the Race!

"Exalted Fleetlord!" Pshing burst into the room, looking to be on the verge of panic. "The Big Uglies have launched another assault on our fleet!" Straha opened his mouth in horror, even if this was not unexpected.

"You have given the appropriate orders, I hope?" Straha asked dangerously. It was unlikely to do much good. Their starships were mostly unarmed, having not anticipated that the Tosevites would be able to strike them hundreds of Tlocks above the surface. And they had only a tiny window of opportunity to evade.

"Of course, Exalted Fleetlord." Pshing bowed deeply. "The ships that are targeted are using every measures possible." Which wasn't much, considering the Tosevite's missiles had much greater acceleration.

"Where are the missiles coming from?" Straha demanded. Whatever not-empire had committed this crime would pay dearly, that much he promised.

"It appears to be a joint attack by the not-empires of the United States, the USSR, China, and Britain." Pshing reported. It would be only a short amount of time before the missiles hit their targets. Straha only prayed to the spirits of Emperors Past that one of them would not be his. Without him, the conquest was doomed to fail.

The missiles hit their starships, as they were able to do next to nothing to evade or intercept the missiles. Straha received reports that a few of them were intercepted by the skelkwank batteries during their boost phase, but too many were out of range to destroy them all.

In total, another seventeen starships were destroyed, with only seven intercepted on the ground. Counting all the ones that were destroyed in orbit and on the ground, 63 starships, 6.3% of their fleet, had been wiped out, mostly by nuclear strikes. Straha hissed in fury and disbelief, Pshing hastily running out of the room to avoid being the beneficiary of Straha's wrath.

"What is the casualty report?" Straha asked his second in command.

"42,000 males are believed to be dead." Kirel spoke reluctantly. "Many of them were either shiplords, technicians, or males of the Race recovering from their wounds on the battlefield. The ships themselves are completely vaporized. The Tosevites used high-yield nukes to ensure little debris hits the surface of the planet." The last time around, pieces of the destroyed ships scattered the surface of the earth, some of them causing deaths and fires in Tosevite cities. Evidently, they had learned from such a mistake.

"You're holding something back; what is it?" Straha demanded. 42,000 males was a considerable loss, but not a fatal one. To see Kirel so concerned required something more than that.

"Some of the missiles... hit the starships that were carrying our nuclear arsenal." Kirel spoke slowly, closing his eye turrets in response to Straha's perceived reaction.

He wanted to scream, to vent some of his anger and frustration at his subordinate, but Straha simply couldn't find the words. This was becoming a bigger and bigger disaster by the moment and he simply couldn't muster the energy to do so. "How many of our weapons did we lose?" Straha asked simply.

Kirel was surprised that he wasn't screaming with all his might, threatening enormous retribution over the strike. He answered: "We lost forty-eight of our explosive-metal bombs, forty of them strategic. The Tosevites have dealt us a greater blow than they may have realized."

"No... No, they figured out those ships were carrying bombs." Straha realized. Sometimes, he believed that he was the only Male of the Race with a working brain. They had lost close to a third of their remaining weapons. "This is no coincidence. Somehow, they learned where we were carrying our weapons."

"How could they have done that, Exalted Fleetlord?" Kirel asked skeptically.

"They're reading our codes; they've learned our language and are intercepting the messages we send to one another." Straha realized. "Atvar was foolish enough to underestimate them; I won't make the same mistake. Prepare a retaliatory attack once you have chosen the best positions and hurry. Do not give them time to prepare their defense."

"It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel promised and left Straha to himself. Many of the weapons would not get through the Tosevite's defenses, which in areas the Race did not control, had become quite extensive. Since their arrival, they had put a lot of resources and research into missile defense and were reaching a point where they had a reasonable chance to shoot down even the ICBMs that had been mostly destroyed.

The silos the missiles were launched from were quickly destroyed, but according to reports from killercraft pilots, they had launched everything in the silos, leaving nothing for the Race to destroy. Straha prepared a massive strike, using a good part of his remaining stockpile.

XXXXXXXXXX

May 31, 1983:

"Much better to see them giving up for a chance." Lucien remarked. Alexis agreed completely, watching hundreds of lizards march of into captivity. He had heard that once captured, lizards were almost completely obedient to whom they considered their new superiors.

"That's hundreds more that won't be holding us down." Alexis smiled, a rare thing for him to do these days. With most of Europe under control and only Britain still free of invaders, things looked grim for them. He did hear that an attempt to invade Britain had failed miserably, the lizards being unable to even grab a toehold onto the British Isles. It cheered him up somewhat, even if they were France's traditional rival.

As a whole, they roamed around the countryside pretty freely. The lizards controlled all the major cities, but they didn't have the manpower to hold the towns and especially the open country, allowing the resistance to gain strength and recruit. "Wish we had better luck with that," Alexis sighed. With war coming to Europe three times in a century, many had decided to simply keep their heads down and let the other human powers do it for him. He sympathized to a degree, but not enough to feel the same way.

Rumors he had heard from across the oceans enraged Alexis. The rest of the world was referring to it as the "European Betrayal". He could hardly believe that so many were actually blaming them for being occupied, claiming essentially that they were cowards. Alexis would gladly smash the face of anyone who claimed that within earshot.

"It's not as bad as all that." Ferdand claimed. "We're holding a lot of the lizards down and playing our part, even if they won't show any gratitude for it."

"It's even worse elsewhere." Someone wandering the area gave his opinion. "We're putting up the best fight in Western Europe." If that was true, that was indeed troubling. Alexis knew that part of the reason France was fighting so hard was because they were attempting to get rid of the reputation they had since 1940, when the Germans marched into Paris. Nobody else had ever let them live it down.

"Spread out; we don't want to end up bombed." Alexis ordered as they moved through the meadow. They were a big target as it was, even with all the camouflage they were wearing. Bunching up was just asking to get killed.

"You think we'll have some sort of nuclear winter?" Lucien asked. The leader of the lizards had just launched another massive nuclear strike, hitting nineteen targets, including 8 cities. Two in Los Angeles, one on Little Rock, Chelyabinsk was hit again, as was Kostanay; Vizaq in India was hit, as was Shenyang and Zhengzhou in China. That wasn't including the ones that were intercepted, or the twenty-three nuclear weapons that the human powers hit the lizards with, although no one was desperate enough to nuke one of their own cities.

"Wish to hell I knew; don't know a damn thing about how nukes work." Alexis admitted. In all honestly, he was expecting one to happen already, but it hadn't; he had no idea why, either. The latest strikes had killed over a million people, not including ones that would die later of radiation poisoning. The sheer scale of it terrified him, even if it was far from the end of the world that some people had predicted.

"Neither do I, and I wish I did." Lucien admitted.

"Forget it; let's focus on our job." Alexis changed the subject. They were near Bourges, the city he was born in. He had only a few memories of the place, as his family had moved when he was only six years old, but even so, the thought of his birth home being occupied by the lizards was sometimes almost too much to stand.

Later in the day, they were forced to avoid a lizard patrol. Alexis wanted nothing more than to hit them, but they were outnumbered over two to one and his superiors decided it wasn't worth the risk. "Don't see them come out here too often anymore." Fernand remarked. "Maybe we really are starting to win this war."

He had a point; the lizards mostly stuck to the major cities, although even there, resistance members set bombs or used snipers against them on their patrols. Alexis saw much less action than he had at the beginning of their attempted conquest.

"Scatter; we've got lizards coming!" the radio screamed and Alexis hastily obeyed. With relatively few trees around, there was much less cover than he would have liked, but he did everything he could. He took out a bayonet and began digging a foxhole in order to protect himself from artillery and gunfire.

"No more than two to a foxhole, understood?" Alexis ordered. Ferdand dug next to him; Lucien and Adam in the second, Gastion, Laurent, and Noel in the third. They were moving as fast as they can, but knew they didn't have much time. Hell, if their aircraft spotted them, they'd have no time at all.

"I've got a lot more sympathy for our grandfathers," Gastion panted. He was the oldest in the squad at forty years old. Ordinarily, he would have been too old for front-line service, but they had very different priorities now. He was also the largest and had difficulty digging a foxhole that would hold three people.

"Move, move, move!" Noel screamed, seeming on the verge of panic. He had never seem combat before, but was about to get an up-close and personal introduction to it. He dug in a frenzy, but panic and inexperience meant that he was throwing dirt in every direction instead of packing it around him the way he was supposed to.

"They may not know we're here, so keep your fucking heads down!" Alexis ordered. "We want to take these sons of bitches by surprise!"

"I bet I can kill more than you," Lucien bragged to the others.

"We'll see about that, you young punk." Gastion laughed, although it came out as more of a strained gasp. "Wish I had a goddamn shovel!"

"Here; I've got an extra one." Ferdand offered, tossing him a spare, which he caught with a skill that indicated years of practice. Gastion had played a third baseman since he was a child and catching such a large object was quite simple to him.

As it turned out, their regiment had been spotted by the lizards and inside of advancing on them, they were going to soften them up first. Their planes could be heard over the sky, and everyone knew what was coming. Alexis was a bit slower, but curled into his foxhole as best he could, covering his face. He cursed himself for not hearing them sooner; even with his ear protectors, Alexis had suffered some hearing loss.

"Goddamn sons of bitches!" Alexis screamed, but he couldn't hear the words coming out of his own mouth. He did not dare watch, not that he could with Ferdand squeezed next to him. The foxhole was not big enough for one person, let alone two, and he was acutely aware that parts of his body were exposed. All he could do was pray that he would not be one of the casualties.

The good news was that one of the lizards' aircraft went in too low and was shot down by the lone surface-to-air missile launcher that they possessed, even if it too was destroyed immediately afterwards. A few fired their guns at them; it did no good, but it helped relieve some of their frustration.

Once their bombs were dropped, the lizards' planes immediately flew out of sight. "How the hell did I survive that?" Noel breathed deeply, still trying to get himself together. He ran his hands over his body, as if disbelieving that he was actually unharmed.

"Well, you managed; that's what is important." Alexis did not have the heart to tell him that helicopters were much, much worse. While more vulnerable to their anti-air weapons, they also enacted a gruesome toll among the troops. They kept shooting and shooting, with no place to hide from the numerous miniguns or their rockets. He couldn't adequately explain what it was like, not to someone who hadn't been through it.

"Let's get back into the forest before they come back." Gastion suggested, but no one else needed any encouragement. Runners were passing along the same orders; the Colonel did not want those orders to be intercepted by the lizards. Even if the likelihood was slim, it was not a chance anyone in their right mind wanted to take.

Alexis jumped into one of the jeeps to make a quicker getaway, even though he knew he was a dead man if anything landed near him. He helped Gastion and Lucien inside, while the others had to chance making it on foot.

The fight was not over just yet, though. The lizard patrol had followed them and had every intention of hunting them down. They had just barely gotten into the woods when one of their humvees went up in flames. Alexis jumped out of the jeep, nearly breaking his ankle in the process. His eyes closed in pain and he knew that at a minimum, he sprained it, but they was no time to do anything about it.

He dived into the underbrush, and took aim at any lizards he could see, although so far, that was none. Neither side was particularly well-equipped, but the lizards had the advantage of air support. Lucien was with him, but he had lost track of the others in his squad. Alexis gave a brief prayer for their safety, then fought on.

A large explosion erupted about three hundred meters away from him, too distant for him to see the vehicle through the trees, only the fire. He had no idea whether it belonged to the lizards or the Allies. He fired a few shots hoping to keep their heads down at least; so much lead was being thrown around that a small burst would go unnoticed.

None of their helicopters here, for which he was extremely thankful. It meant he had a much better chance of survival. _If only I could find those bastards... _Alexis thought. He couldn't fire at every noise, not unless he wanted to risk hitting his fellow soldiers. Friendly fire claimed more lives than anyone wanted to admit; thankfully, the lizards had the same problem.

Knowing better than to stick around, Alexis and Lucien retreated. While he didn't remember everything, Alexis knew his way around the area a lot better than the lizards did. Not everyone was so lucky; he saw corpses littering the ground, human and lizard alike. He walked near someone he could have sworn was dead until he saw his eyes open, nearly making him jump out of his skin.

Parts of his skull were missing, his right arm had been blown off. His remaining hand was holding in his intestines, and unless he was badly mistaken, there was a piece of shrapnel in his left eye socket. He did not even notice them, lost in his private agony. The boy could not have been older than 20; practically a child, even though Alexis was only seven years older.

Alexis took out his pistol and shot him, running away as soon as he did so. Even if they got him to a hospital, his chances were slim, but out here... it was a mercy, even if it dealt a heavy blow to Alexis' heart. Lucien looked at him questioningly, but did not say anything, for which Alexis was grateful.

Those who survived headed to the surrounding towns where they were taking shelter; the one Alexis entered was called Issoudon. The lizards used to send out patrols all the time, but never had enough lizards to garrison every single one of them, allowing them a safe haven. With his adrenaline wearing off, Alexis' ankle was practically screaming at him. Lucien had to support him in order to allow him to walk the streets.

He ran into Gastion a few minutes later, where the three of them were taking cover in a condemned house. "I lost track of the others." He mentioned when Alexis asked him. "It was bad out there. Don't know how many lizards we killed, but we lost a lot of men. Good news is that we destroyed about half their vehicles in the process.

"Vehicles... did they have any tanks?" Alexis asked.

"I didn't see any, but couldn't tell you for sure." Gastion admitted. "They didn't buy anything cheap today... but neither did we." He stopped speaking, simply sitting there, lost in his own horrors.

Noel arrived about an hour later with a cut across his arm from a piece of shrapnel. There was a lot of blood, but it didn't puncture any veins or nerve endings, so he would recover as long as the wound didn't get infected. "Two more seconds and they would have shot my fucking ass off!" He declared, explaining his story. He had hidden inside a pile of branches seconds before an armored personnel carrier drove by.

"Did you see any tanks?" Alexis asked, to which Noel shook his head. "Means they're running out of them." Bit by bit, the news traveled through the town. All their vehicles had been destroyed but the lizards had lost four of their troopcarriers. It indicated to him that they were running out of men and equipment both.

There was an announcement from the lone radio station the town had. Their colonel began to speak. "Although we were forced to retreat, the lizards have sustained heavy losses. They thought they could beat us, take our planet to use for themselves. We've been terrorized, bombed, nuked, threatened, and persecuted. Now it's our turn; the foe is in retreat all across the planet! With your help and God's help, we will prevail!"


	18. Chapter 18

To answer questions about whether or not there's going to be a nuclear winter, I'd have to say no. I've read several different papers on it in preparation for this story, giving wildly varying opinions on what it would take to cause one and how severe it would be. Considering the number of warheads and the time frame, I think I can say that this will not result in one.

I meant to have this out sooner, but I spent close to a week being sick and not up to doing much of anything, let alone writing. Hopefully, you'll enjoy the chapter regardless.

XXXXXXXXX

June 22, 1983:

_This is the very last thing I would have expected. _Andrei admitted to himself. However tired he was of constant meeting, this one looked to be a little different than the others.

There was a mood of cautious optimism around the room. Everyone knew that the war was beginning to turn in their favor. The Race's advances had been almost completely halted all throughout the world. Indeed, in some areas, they were being forced back.

China perhaps was having the most success in removing the lizards from their territory. Several lizard-held cities had fallen, and close to a dozen others were under siege, tens of thousands of lizards surrounded with no hope of escape. Andrei had been surprised at how quickly they had managed to build up their military in the unoccupied regions.

"Should we begin to broadcast demands for surrender?" Raj Borra asked of the others. While India had not had the same level of success in pushing the lizards out of their territory that China had, they too were going on the offensive. "They must realize by now that they can't win."

"A few isolated divisions are beginning to lose hope, but whatever their personal feelings, most are fighting us just as hard as they did when the tide was in their favor." Robinson reminded.

"Agreed; it is not prudent to do so just yet." Andrei agreed with his American counterpart. They even gave each other a brief smile, which would have been unthinkable less than a year ago.

"But would they listen in any case?" Andrew Maddox asked. "They worship their emperor as a god, and as he has decreed that Earth must be conquered, there is a very real possibility that they will fight to the end, even when there is no hope of victory." By now, Andrei had learned enough English to mostly get by without an interpreter though he still kept one with him regardless.

"We have not beaten them just yet." Borra reminded. Even with reinforcements and a better trained army, India's progress in removing the invaders was slow.

"Our loss ratio is decreasing by the day, and they are unable to summon any reinforcements." Robinson declared optimistically. But he was realistic enough to add: "They have a colonization fleet arriving, though, which could complicate matters somewhat."

"Why would it complicate things?" Qiang Li shrugged. "If anything, it may hasten the end of this war. If we threaten to destroy their fleet as soon as it arrives, we have leverage to use over them. I do not believe that they would sacrifice millions of their people in order to continue a futile war."

"They already have, in case you've forgotten." Andrei pointed out. "Millions of their kind have already died, and they show no indication of being willing to quit. Interrogations reveal that they will fight as long as their fleetlord order them to do so, and Straha has shown no indication of giving in." The fact that he replaced the former leader who did seem ready to sue for peace was worrying. From their transmissions, it appeared that he was becoming increasingly erratic and even desperate.

When he spoke those words out loud, most people in the room did not see the danger that he had. "If he is getting desperate, he is also more likely to make mistakes." Maddox pointed out. "Based on our psychological profile of him, he believes himself to be the most knowledgeable about how to successfully complete the conquest."

"There is no indication that he has actively interfered with the ongoing campaigns." Borra reminded. "Indeed, their competence has only grown with the replacement of new leaders who are more capable of thinking for themselves."

"I would strongly reject any threat towards their colonization fleet." Robinson stated firmly. "For one, alien or not, these ships carry between eighty and one hundred million sentient beings, and we will not allow such unparalleled butchery to occur." Andrei thought the statement naive, but even so, killing so many was not something his conscience could agree to.

"What kind of fool are you?" Li demanded. "They are the enemy! They have already waged an unprovoked war against us; now is not the time for moral scruples!"

"Surely this must have occurred to them as well, especially after the second wave of missiles hit their starships." Maddox warned. "If we openly or covertly threaten to kill their civilians, they will lose all motivation to surrender and will fight to the very end. This war has become most unpleasant as things currently stand." _Typical British understatement, _Andrei thought. "If we threaten mass murder, they will have no motivation to stop fighting. If you cannot view this as wrong on humanitarian grounds, at least consider what the strategic ramifications would be."

"You... perhaps there is something to that argument." Li spoke up reluctantly. "We cannot rule it out entirely, however. If our survival is on the line, we should do whatever is necessary to preserve our independence."

"Very well, but this must be emphasized as a last resort." Maddox warned. Andrei wondered if anyone would listen. For now, only the United States, the Soviet Union, and Great Britain had the capability to strike the lizards' starships in orbit. Once the colonization fleet arrived... who knew? "My government condemns such an action in the strongest possible terms."

"What does it matter?" Borra asked. "They are lizards, not humans."

"Don't you think they're saying the same thing about us?" Robinson pointed out. " 'They are only Big Uglies; who cares what happens to them?'"

"They started this war, not us." Borra snarled. "We sent messages of peace and they returned them with nuclear weapons!" The meeting lost its organization for some time as all of them argued about the merits of holding the colonization fleet hostage.

Recognizing that they were getting nowhere, Andrei spoke out: "Let's end this discussion for now; we still have a war to fight, in case anyone has forgotten." That didn't make the discussion disappear, but allowed them to visit it at a future date. He knew many in the Politburo agreed and no doubt, hardliners in the other major powers came to the same conclusion. His concern was that the lizards, if they held the colonization fleet hostage, would fight to the bitter end rather than give in.

"So how do we convince them to surrender?" Maddox inquired. "There's the obvious solution of killing them all, but even if their advantage is gone, the lizards are quite capable of fighting."

"The difficulty is that they advocate unquestioned obedience to their superiors, following orders no matter how foolish or suicidal." Andrei responded. The Soviet Union had similar traits, but the lizards were even worse. It worked out to their advantage many times, but could also backfire on them. "Our propaganda specialists are still working on the problem." Their success had been very limited; they learned the hard way never to criticize the lizards' emperor.

"Just warn them that Straha is a dangerous lunatic." Borra suggested. "It shouldn't be difficult, since he really is a dangerous lunatic."

"Private conversations between the lizards themselves that have been recorded do indicate a lot of discontent, both with the war and Straha himself." Robinson pointed out. "However, these are restricted to small conversations and according to our body language experts, they appear nervous simply saying that much." Robinson briefly looked at Andrei at those last words, but said nothing more, as he would have in the past.

"Do they believe they will be punished if they speak out against him?" Maddox wondered.

"Of course they would; no sane leader would tolerate such questioning of his leadership." Li pointed out. "If they are whispering it, however, their unhappiness will only grow as our victories grow larger. We have already taken tens of thousands of prisoner who have expressed discontent with the war."

"That may be because it's not going the way they planned, rather than any moral objections." Maddox pointed out. "They expected to fight knights from the Middle Ages, not industrialized nations."

"Culturally, their society is almost a hive mind, though the comparison is far from perfect." Andrei informed. "Subordinates owe their superiors obedience and superiors owe them respect and consideration in turn. It does seem, however, that this relationship is falling apart. Their previous two conquests were easy and except for a Soldier's Time, their planet is at peace."

"Which doesn't help them much against the likes of us," Robinson chuckled darkly. It seemed strange to humans, who had always fought one another somewhere on the planet.

"Our recordings are more limited, but many of those becoming disillusioned with the conquest appear to be ginger addicts or at least ginger tasters." Andrei declared. "If we can increase the amount of ginger gas on the front lines, some of the males who influenced by it will become addicted to it. The drug removes their inhibitions and in between tastes, their men are more gloomy and depressed than a non-user would be."

"They've also taken precautions; most of their men have gas masks now." Borra pointed out. "We can sell it to them, yes, but that counts on them becoming addicted with minimal assistance from us."

"I don't think that will be a problem." Maddox gave a small smile. "Many have already become addicts without encouragement."

"Whatever we decide to do, keep in mind that this war will not have a quick ending." Andrei warned. "Some may be willing to surrender, but others will not. The balance has tilted in our favor, yes, but it is possible for us to lose. As we make our plans, do not forget that."

"A sensible suggestion," Robinson nodded in agreement. "There is one other thing that my government has asked me to bring up."

"What is it?" Borra asked. "Keep in mind that we are short of resources just now."

"I understand that, but I hope you'll consider it anyway." Robinson responded. "As you all know, Los Angeles has been under siege almost since the beginning of the war. Reagan has refused to surrender the city despite the horrifying losses and while I understand his reasoning, it has nonetheless taken a dreadful toll on our citizens. I am asking all of you to spare whatever aircraft and supplies you can in order to help them survive." A single tear came from his eye as he passed around the photos, although fake or genuine, Andrei could not determine.

There were multiple horrified gasps by the representatives and interpreters both. Andrei tried to appear impassive, but it wasn't easy. The photos brought back too many of his childhood memories. It reminded him all too much of Leningrad, even if this situation was not as deadly or brutal. He tried to remain as objective as possible in order to further the interests of the Soviet Union, but this kind of depravity could not be ignored.

Over his many years in the Soviet Army, Andrei had felt many things for their capitalist rival. Disgust, annoyance, horror, even respect that their rival had earned. Until now, though, sympathy was not one of them.

"We will spare whatever is necessary to relieve the siege." Maddox was the first to speak up. "We will make it clear that this kind of brutality is unacceptable, and there will be consequences for it. My government will be able to deliver 10,000 tons of food within seventy-two hours."

"Thank you very much," Robinson nodded. "We are doing everything we can to keep them fed ourselves, but the city is slowly starving." He had been forced to swallow his pride and ask for outside assistance. The death toll thus far was not completely known, but with the added deaths due to the two nuclear strikes, it was between 500,000 and 700,000 deaths, more than the United States had suffered during the whole of World War II.

"Whatever you need, we'll give you." Maddox swore.

"I cannot promise the same, but we will assist in any way we can." Andrei promised as well. While some in the Politburo were willing to see them starve, the more influential members were willing to assist. "We will send it by ship, as our transport aircraft are still needed west of Moscow to hold back the lizard advances. They are also less likely to attack it, as even Straha does not fully understand the importance of water travel." That or he didn't have the munitions to destroy all the human ships; Andrei knew what he would have guessed.

"Now that the war is turning against the lizards, we will be able to send aid." Li proclaimed. "Do not have any illusions about the quantity, but I will try to convince my government to contribute."

"Anything you can give would be appreciated," Robinson pointed out. "We are also willing to help you in turn." According to spies within their government, the Americans were willing to give just about anything in return for relieving the city save for their stealth aircraft designs. Andrei knew that was a dangerous trump card, and under no circumstances would the Soviet Union share the blueprints were their positions reversed.

As a whole, the meeting was much more productive than Andrei had been used to. Their old tensions were far from gone, but everyone had realized that none of their previous disputes would matter if the lizards succeeded in overrunning earth. The price in lives that they were all paying had a lot to do with that as well.

Andrei gripped his cane as he slowly walked down the hallways, being wary for other individuals barreling down, unaware of their surroundings. More than once, he had nearly been hit, including by one of his subordinates.

Once he arrived in his office, the first report he read was at the efforts of training new pilots, headed by Ludmila. Not surprisingly, she proved to be an excellent teacher. _You would never have gotten me onto a U-2. _He shuddered. Not exactly true; he would have followed orders had his superiors demanded it, but all the same, he was grateful that he never had to do so.

With more aircraft going up to challenge the lizards' air superiority by the day, the Soviet Army was able to take the initiative. Although Kaluga had fallen and Moscow was once again in danger, they were doing better farther east. In the Kazakhstan Socialist Republic, where he had previously served, Kostanay and Rudnyy had been retaken and a second column of Soviet forces were marching on Astana.

_Moscow may be in danger of falling, however. _Andrei thought. It wasn't especially likely, however, even though the warmer weather assisted the lizards' war effort. It was heavily fortified with as many men as they could spare and was well protected from both conventional and nuclear attacks. Several cities had already been hurt by nuclear strikes and the Politburo refused to suffer through it again.

He picked up the phone on the first ring; it was a call he had expected. "Hello, comrade." Andrei greeted, unsure as to who was on the other line.

"How are the negotiations going on your end?" The man on the other end asked.

"There are still obstacles, but overall, we have accomplished much more than we did when the war was young." Andrei confessed.

"Then you have had more luck than many," The voice stated. Andrei knew the man was likely to become the next General Secretary when Andropov died, which likely wouldn't be long. If he succeeded, he would be the first General Secretary born after the October Revolution. "We are still working out all of the details."

"May I ask what those details are, comrade?" Andrei wondered cautiously.

"Some of us want to take advantage of the war in order to weaken our rivals." The man responded. "They are reluctant to give any aid, even if it works the other way. A few have even proposed a non-aggression pact with Straha to let him destroy and weaken other nations."

"Have they lost their minds?" Andrei blurted out in astonishment before he could catch himself. "I beg your pardon." If he would indeed become the next General Secretary, it would be unwise to end up in his disfavor. Still, there was something that had to be said. "At the risk of questioning my superiors, that plan cannot end in any way but disaster for us. Straha would never honor the non-aggression pact and if the others are beaten, it would be our turn. If the West, China, and India beat him in spite of our neutrality, we would be pariahs! The Soviet Union would not survive if we did anything so foolish!"

"Those who propose this see the Race's arrival as an opportunity, not a threat." Fortunately, the one on the other line didn't sound angry. "This faction is in the minority, but they are vocal and may persuade others. Rest assured the General Secretary refuses to do anything as foolish as that." Andrei breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't think Andropov would do any such thing, but you never could tell... "However, it does provide us with an opportunity of a different sort."

"What do you mean?" Andrei asked. How could anything good come out of this invasion?!

"Think about it: how is the Cold War likely to end if it not interrupted?" He answered. "The only thing we would accomplish by going to war with the West is killing much of our population; that they would suffer the same fate would be of small comfort to us. Now, however, we are standing together and cooperating. It would be a great shame if things returned to the status quo once all of this was over."

Like it or not, Andrei admitted the possible leader had a point in what he said. Most assumed that one day, there would be a nuclear war and while far fewer in the Soviet Union believed in the concept of Mutually Assured Destruction than in the United States, even a victory would be pyrrhic at best. If it was possible to end things another way... "I'll do everything I can." Andrei promised.

"I have full confidence in you." His superior declared. "I know you would rather be fighting for the Rodina, but you are doing us a far greater service." He hung up without another word. Andrei saw the potential for a better post-war world, but whether it would work... only time would tell.

XXXXXXXXXX

June 25, 1983:

"Good to have some protection around us again." Melanie remarked, walking through the deep trenches that had been dug throughout the area. She remembered nearly killing herself digging them, but now that they had been completed, she was glad she did. In addition to countless miles of trenches, the defenders had built tens of thousands of concrete bunkers.

"If you think I'm going to argue with you, you're crazy." Thomas agreed. A few artillery shells landed near them, but only a direct hit would cost them their lives. "Pretty astonishing feat of engineering, if you ask me." Like her, Thomas' hands were calloused from the hours of digging trenches. They were seven feet deep, close to ten feet wide, and were interconnected in order for them to swiftly reinforce any part where the lizards looked like they were going to break through. "You think this will be enough?"

"If it isn't, we're even worse at soldiering than I thought." Melanie admitted. The battle had begun a few days ago, but apart from the occasional artillery and air raid, her section was safe. The lizards intended to link their forces from west and east together, and the Americans (to say nothing of the Canadians, British, and Australians) were not about to let that happen. "Least it's dry right now."

"I know; it wasn't unheard of for people to have their feet amputated because they spent too long in the trenches during the First World War." Thomas pointed out. Even now, he read as many history books as he could get his hands on, which was not many. "Are your boots still working?"

She lifted her right boot up and gave it a full inspection. The problem wasn't as bad as it was earlier in the year, but the problem had not disappeared. Thomas bent down and looked it over, feeling the boot for any holes. "Did you find anything?" Melanie asked.

"Nope, I don't see any gaps." Thomas replied. "Figured I wouldn't, but it doesn't hurt to make sure." Melanie spent the next few minutes inspecting his boots as well before coming to the same conclusion. Katherine was currently in an aid tent for trench foot, although fortunately it looked like it was not severe enough to use amputation.

Both of them peered over the trench grabbing a telescope to see if any lizards were coming, ready to dive back inside within a second if necessary. "I see a few tanks, but I can't tell if they're ours or the lizards'." Thomas mentioned. They walked through the trench, being careful not to step on any of their fellow soldiers who were able to sleep in spite of everything.

The lizards had attacked their positions from three directions at the start of the battle, achieving some initial victories, but now they had been slowed down almost to a crawl. Their fortifications were 500 miles wide, 70 miles deep, and close to two million men were defending the area. "I still can't tell, damn it." Melanie cursed. Thomas pushed her back into the trench.

"Best to assume the worst, then." Thomas remarked, keeping his head down and a trough in his other hand. Neither of them had actually fought lizards inside the trenches yet, but stayed prepared for what everyone believed was an inevitability. He handed Melanie her bayonet, which she held next to her rifle. In her pocket was a hammer.

More shells began to fly. With reflexes honed by battle, the siblings threw themselves to the dirt. Those who were taking the opportunity to sleep were immediately woken up. A few started screaming hysterically, unable to do anything more than cover their ears. Nobody said anything about it; there were few who could not claim they had not done the same thing themselves.

"Bet they're going to try and break through here!" Melanie yelled, but even so, Thomas could only just hear her over the shelling. "Why didn't those dumb fucks warn us?"

"Because that would have been convenient," Thomas yelled back. The lizards were short of ammunition, from all reports, but they would use a barrage if they thought there was a gain to be made.

Melanie hated this. She couldn't hit back, she couldn't even run. She covered her eyes to keep dirt from flying inside and hoped for the best. Thomas grabbed his knapsack and used it to shield the two of them. Even though she could barely hear herself, she cursed the lizards using every swear word she knew.

After a couple minutes, the barrage began to ease. She looked around to see if anyone around her needed aid during the brief interlude. Thomas handed her the bayonet she had dropped in the confusion. Nobody in the near vicinity was dead or seriously injured. The trenches were well built; only a shell that entered the trench itself would create heavy casualties.

"Learn more vocabulary from you every day, sis." Thomas teased her once the shelling let up. It could still be heard in the distance, but was no longer an imminent danger.

"Oh, shut up." Melanie rolled her eyes, playfully smacking him in the arm. She knelt down to a middle-aged man who was unfortunate enough to receive a couple shrapnel wounds. Two pieces of metal were stuck in his helmet and fortunately did not penetrate into his head. He was screaming and cursing, but still aware of his surroundings, for which he was thankful.

One of the pieces merely grazed his back shoulder, while the other dug itself into his back. Thomas ripped off a part of the uniform in order to get a better look at the wound. People were already screaming: "Medic!" but there weren't enough to treat everyone; that had been a sad fact ever since the war started. "It's not bleeding too badly, at least." Thomas sighed, putting pressure on the wound. "Melanie, get a bandage."

"Yeah, give me a moment." Melanie found his knapsack, but as she did to, two others obtained one and began to set it on the unfortunate man's back once the bleeding began to slow. She made sure to use antiseptic on his wound, knowing that with these kind of conditions, it could easily get infected.

Eventually, a pair of stretcher-bearers found him and began to drag him to the nearest aid tent. Melanie breathed a sigh of relief. Even though she had gotten a small amount of medical training, she wasn't up to treating any serious wounds. Superficial ones were difficult enough. "Could have been a lot worse," Thomas shook his head.

"I know; hell of a shame, too." Melanie agreed. The man looked to be only a few years younger than their parents. They stayed low, not intending to stick their heads out of the trenches unless it was absolutely necessary. Both sides had snipers that made the other side's life miserable.

The time passed by slowly until they began to hear more shelling. To compound the problem, aircraft and even lizard helicopters were spotted, warning everyone that the lizards were going to attempt another big push. Lieutenants and Sergeants spread the news throughout the trenches about their new orders to attempt a counterattack.

The plan was to hit the lizard column on both flanks. Although taking heavy losses, the lizards had pierced through four more miles of their fortifications and the generals were hoping that they were overextended and to at least slow them down, if not completely halt the advances. "Wonder how well this will go," Thomas scoffed.

"At least they didn't claim it was certain to work." Melanie pointed out. She forced her fear back as best she could. If anything happened to hear when she went over the top... she'd worry about it then.

Everyone stayed in the trenches as long as they could to minimize the casualties. It was likely that the lizards knew they were attempting something. Those who were still alive were now combat-hardened, even if their skill was limited in tactical terms.

"If we're lucky, we can catch them off guard." Thomas stated, throwing his knapsack up there first, using the wooden step to propel his body upwards. He hid behind the pile of dirt each trench had in front of it, waiting for others to join before he advanced. There were gaps in the trench in order to allow tanks and other vehicles to pass, doubling as kill zones for any lizard vehicle foolish enough to think they found a way through.

"Hurry up, goddamn it!" One of the lieutenants screamed. "Our men can't hold much longer!" He was ten years older than Melanie, but hoisted himself up with far less difficulty than she did. Hugging the dirt, she assessed the situation, grabbing a pair of goggles from a comrade who would never need it again.

Their counterattack moved slowly and by squads. Melanie was not about to take unnecessary chances. She was worried; if they had no vehicles of their own, they'd end up slaughtered, but... no, she saw some of their own tanks moving forward shelling the enemy positions. Thomas fell to his belly several feet away from her and began crawling forward.

Some of them cheered when they saw their own aircraft hitting the lizards, but nobody let it distract them for long. Fire and move, fire and move... it was a routine that was drilled into them over and over again.

Not to say that things were easy. The lizards were initially caught off guard by the counterattack, but once they began bumping up against greater numbers, they were practically ground to a halt. Thomas sprayed an entire clip in their direction, although it was likely that he hit anything but air. Those individuals who failed to remember to use fire-and-move tactics had a far greater fatality rate.

Melanie gasped when she saw a lizard tank and prayed that it didn't notice her. It moved to a position that concealed much of its body and rained hell down on their formations. "Goddamn son of a bitch!" Melanie cursed. She wished she had an anti-tank missile, but those were far from guaranteed kills.

In a second effort to break through, the Americans began another artillery barrage, even larger than the first. Some of them had the same familiar sound, but others were different. "What the fuck are those?" Melanie wondered.

"We're gassing those bastards!" She heard someone else cheer, which answered her question. Melanie put on her own mask in case it floated down towards their lines... not that it was any sure protection. Few of them were fortunate enough to have full-body protection, but even so, the lizards were far worse off when it came to chemical warfare.

The noise was so overwhelming and the smoke thick enough to black out just about everything. Melanie couldn't see clearly more than a few feet in front of her, but that didn't stop her from firing. She mentally counted seven clips left in terms of ammunition and resolved to be more careful with what she had. Machine gun crews were being brought up to the front as well.

A couple minutes later, figures began charging towards their positions. Oddly enough, they were using far too little caution, but that didn't bother Melanie at all. _East targets, _She thought, taking full advantage of the opportunity. She thought it strange, but was not about to question it.

Even with their foolishness, the lizards were able to hit back and hard. Their aircraft came around for another pass, some of the bombs landing dangerously close to her. Melanie hastily began digging a foxhole, although it was nowhere near large enough to protect her body.

"They're off guard; let them come to us!" The radio ordered, although it sounded like nothing more than a whisper through the commotion. "Their heads are full of ginger; they can't think straight!"

_So that's the reason, _Melanie thought. She heard the drug messed with the lizards' minds and made them do foolish things, but previously believed it was an exaggeration. If anything, it was an understatement. It was difficult to believe how they were just charging forth as if they believed nothing the Allies could do would hurt them. Maybe they did think that.

Some of her fellow soldiers were treating this as a game and laughing; others were all business. The laughs stopped when close to a dozen tanks were spotted heading in their direction. Instead of charging, they blasted them from what they considered was a safe distance. _Damn it, do we have any anti-tank missiles at all?! _She demanded. A pair of them were launched at one of the rear tanks, but as they hit the front armor, the lizards were able to withstand the blast.

What kept them from being forced to run away was the fact that many of the lizards were still being affected by ginger. Those who were experienced users and knew better than to let the feeling of invincibility control them held their ground. For a time, the two sides seemed to be at parity.

She heard the scream of pain from her own side and sliding on her belly, rushed over to see what was wrong. Melanie hoped it wasn't too serious, especially since medics would be committing suicide trying to maneuver though the gunfire. To provide a distraction, she threw one of her grenades in a random direction and fled immediately afterward, moving as fast as she dared.

"What happened?" Melanie demanded, seeing blood pour out of his mouth. He moaned in pain, trying to stop the bleeding. She reached for a bandage before realizing that she had left her pack behind.

"He'll be fine; dumb shit tried to pull the pin with his teeth." His buddy answered. Like everyone else, they were covered with grime and sweat. "Watched too many fucking movies, huh, numbnuts?!" The injured soldier's reply was drowned out, but sounded less than complimentary.

Just when it looked the lizards were going to try another push, their own tank came to the rescue. The M1 Abrams was almost a match for what the lizards had, and the Allies had far more of them. Doing the math just as well, the enemy began to retreat, although pockets of lizard troops stayed behind to delay the counterattack.

It was hoped that they could be bypassed, but the lizards who remained behind were too stubborn and numerous. Melanie crawled slowly towards them, bullets firing by mere inches above her head. The thought of one of them hitting her forced her as low as she could go. Fortunately, there were still some trees that were still standing, even though they hindered the Allies as well.

Another air raid was launched, but this time, it was from the human side. Refusing to let stubborn pockets of resistance slow them down, they bombed the lizards with everything they had. Two bombers were shot down, but the rest managed to escape once their payload was dropped, although the battle was so chaotic that few on either side could even see the human aircraft, but the results could not be denied.

Even with the lizards taking a ferocious pounding, the Allies advanced cautiously. Those who were inexperienced and undergoing their transforming now moved more cautiously than before, realizing the very real possibility that they could end up injured or dead.

The advance was moving at close to 100 yards a minute, much slower than they wanted, but faster than most counterattacks they had previously conducted. Screams on both sides could be heard, with medics rushing through the gunfire to do what they could for them. Melanie's spirit went up. _I think we're going to win this, _she thought, a big change from her more dour attitude previously.

One of the lizard pockets sensed that continuing to fight was futile and began to wave a white flag. "We... surrrrrendrrrr," one of them said in garbled but understandable English. A second flag went up in an attempt to confirm it to the allies.

"Hands in the air!" A captain screamed over a microphone. "No funny stuff or you're all dead!" Melanie wondered if it would even work. Surrenders were chancy between human powers; the fear had to be even greater among creatures from another world. She was sorely tempted to gun them down as soon as they showed their heads, but didn't... quite.

The first of them began to show their faces, looking just as dirty, afraid, and weary as the Americans were. It was Melanie's first look at them as individuals. From here, they looked much less intimidating, far unlike the demons who had overrun close to half the United States. Their claws were in the air as they slowly walked towards them.

The battle surrounding them was still going on, but orders were given to cease firing at their current position. Once the first lizards walked towards the humans without anything happening to them, they hissed in their native language. Even without understanding a word of it, Melanie surmised they were ordering the others to follow them.

She took her finger off the trigger; every impulse and instinct in her brain was screaming at Melanie to open fire. Her rifle was lowered slightly, but she was still wary of any tricks the lizards might pull.

All weapons were surrenders as the lizards marched off into custody. Melanie supposed they'd have people who could understand them interrogate them about anything they knew about their war plans. She noticed the different kinds of body paint, which presumably indicated seniority, but she couldn't tell the difference between it.

Now that the fight was over, at least for now, Melanie wondered what had become of her brother. She couldn't remember exactly how she got separated from him, but listening to the screams of the wounded, she feared Thomas would be among them.

"Excuse me, has anyone seen my brother?" Melanie asked as many as she could. Nobody knew, or rather, she received half a dozen different answers. One said he was dead, causing her heart to pound with fear. She looked at the dead, hoping that his corpse would not be among them. They had won a victory, but it had not come cheaply.

"Melanie!" She heard him shout. She gleefully hugged her brother, as Thomas picked her up and spun her around. "Ow! What are you carrying, bricks?"

"I'm sorry, I just... I worried something had happened to you." Melanie informed him, trying not to cry as they enjoyed their reunion. Even in her state, she was well aware that a new attack could come at any time.

"Well, I'm fine, except my ankle's killing me." Thomas complained. "Fell into a damn gopher hole." Melanie couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. "Hey, it's not funny!" That only made her laugh harder. "Okay, maybe a little."

"We beat them!" Melanie cheered; she was far from the only one. The battle as a whole hadn't been won yet, but almost everyone was in a celebratory mood. "We beat those sons of bitches!"

The lizards had pulled their spearhead back about two miles. That night, the allies attempted a counterattack, which unfortunately they managed to repel. At the same time, though, it didn't seem to matter that much. The lizard attack in the southern half of their fortifications was the only one still advancing and even they had been nearly halted.

One more position taken, more lizards captured... how long could they keep that up before they ran out of lizards?

XXXXXXXXXX

June 26, 1983:

"Jerusalem is ours!" Reuven listened to the cheer that went out all across the city. Large portions of it were rubble, but the city nevertheless belonged to Israel.

He had only been back for a few days; his superiors considered it too dangerous for him to be in the field any longer. Reuven protested, but not as much as he might have; he saw the merit in their decision. After the gas attack, the truce between Iraqis, Iranians, and Kurds was in name only. They fought the Race, yes, but attacked each other almost as often.

The fight might not have been over, but taking Jerusalem back had done wonders for morale. Here, Reuven could simply relax for a while and enjoy the interlude. He knew he'd be back on the field in some capacity, so Reuven resolved to enjoy it for as long as he could. Safety had been a novelty for the past year, so with danger being only intermittent, he had some difficulty adjusting.

He forced himself not to jump or dive for cover at the first loud noise. That instinct had saved his life half a dozen times in Iraq, but here, the only thing he had to show for it was bumps and bruises. Lizards still came over to hit the city, but only infrequently and caused few casualties. It didn't make much difference... unless you were one of them, in which case light casualties suddenly became heavy.

Reuven spotted a pair of Palestinians waving back at him. He responded cautiously, forcing himself to ignore the fear that came along with it. Reuven was a child during Israel's creation; he remembered the brutality on both sides and thanked God every day that the war did not claim him as it had many others. They still did not like or trust one another, although there were a few Palestinians that he could call friends or at least acquaintances.

He walked to the apartment where he had lived for so long. If he was allowed a respite from the fighting, Reuven knew there was one thing he had to do, at least once. He knocked on the door twice, looking in all directions in case foes walked through the other doors and tried to kill him. Even before the Race arrived, that was a long ingrained instinct.

David Goldfarb opened the door on the other end, looking annoyed, then delighted when he saw who it was. "Son, it's good to see you!" He exclaimed. "How have you been holding up?"

"I'm all right, Dad; could be worse." Reuven responded, walking inside. As always, he felt a vague twinge of conscience whenever he referred to him as dad, even though David was the one who had raised him almost since birth. "I'm glad to see our house is still here."

"Came close a couple times, but we've never actually been hit." Goldfarb replied. Reuven saw the windows had wooden boards instead of glass, something he was unhappy about even if he understood the necessity. When he was a child, he spent long spans of time looking out of them, watching other children play. "What have you been up to?"

"It's been quite an adventure." Reuven informed him. He could only offer generalizations, even to his father, since so much of what he did was classified. It was the nature of his job. "Even so, I'm glad to be back home, if only for a little while." He scanned the home instinctively for escape routes, ambush points, and potential explosives.

"You can stay as long as you like." Goldfarb smiled at him. "It's good to have some company." His mother had passed away two years ago from a heart attack. Rachel had simply sat down in their rocking chair one night and died. As good an end as could be expected if you had to die; Reuven had seen far too many die in grisly ways to think otherwise.

"I don't plan on leaving for some time." Reuven promised, though he'd go the instant his superiors ordered him to. He collapsed in the rocking chair, taking in his old home. He hadn't lived in it for over twenty years, but it would always be home to him. Even without electricity, he had no problem remembering where everything one. His dad always kept things in the same place.

"I know you can't tell me all the details of what you do, but... what does it look like out there?" He asked. Goldfarb knew some things had to be kept quiet, but

"Overall, things are going in our favor." Reuven admitted. "We won multiple victories, and from all accounts, we're becoming too strong for the Race to successfully conquer. But... the truce has pretty much fallen apart. Cooperation in this region is in name only. If anything, the Kurds, Iranians, and Iraqis are spending more time killing each other than they are fighting the Race."

"That's... certainly disappointing?" Goldfarb finally spoke up. "I assume, then, that reports from the telly are... rosier than what it is like in truth."

"You'd... best forget I ever said that." Reuven suggested. Every government in the region was doing their best to hide that fact, but it would leak out soon enough. He noted that people outside the intelligence business had many misunderstandings about just how difficult it really was to keep something secret. He didn't know why they even bothered, but the effort was still being made.

"I'm sorry, son, what were you talking about?" Goldfarb may not have been a member of Mossad, but he understood the meaning of discretion.

"Thank you," Reuven nodded, walking into his old room. It had hardly been big enough for him as a kid, let alone now, but it was a fond sight nonetheless. Some of his old car models were still on his desk even after all these years, gathering dust. "When is the last time you were in here?"

"I've never had any need to do so." Goldfarb shrugged.

"Appears as if retirement suits you." Reuven smiled at him. He had been a radar technician for the Israeli Air Force for thirty years before retiring with a comfortable pension. "Sitting on your lazy butt doing nothing all day; sounds like a plan to me."

"Oh, you'll get your chance." Goldfarb quipped back. "After all, what are you doing now?" Reuven chuckled, taking the point. Half of him wanted to go back on the field where, dangerous as it was, he felt at home. The other half never wanted to see another enemy target again.

He settled for sitting down in his father's old chair. Reuven heard shells entering the city, but they were landing miles away. Goldfarb showed no more signs of alarm than he did. After looking carefully, he spotted a few traces of concern, but nothing more. "Maybe after this is over, you can finally settle down." His father suggested.

"Do you have to mention that to me every time?" Reuven rolled his eyes. His father had always wanted him to settle down, get married, start a family. It sounded pleasant, but it wasn't the kind of life he was meant for.

"Since you haven't listened, it seems like I have to tell you again." Goldfarb stated. "You haven't had a real relationship for over a decade now. I'd like to have grandkids before I die." Reuven could understand his father's desire, even if hearing it on every visit did grow tiring.

"Then I'll have plenty of time," Reuven declared. "Neither of us is going anywhere." Somehow, contemplating his own death was easier than thinking about his father's demise. He was sixty-seven years old, and would be sixty-eight in two months. "One thing at a time, though, dad. First we've got to beat the lizards."

"I have the feeling this isn't over just yet." Goldfarb. "If even a third of what you've told me about their leader (_Straha, _Reuven mentally named), he's not going to give up so easily. I'd bet on him having a few more tricks to use."

"I thought I was supposed to be the pessimistic one." Reuven joked. A jest didn't mean his father wasn't correct, though. Many thought that the war was over, except for a few mop-up operation. Reuven read the psychological profile on Straha and felt that there were still some difficult days ahead.

XXXXXXXXXX

In case you're interested, I was considering having the Soviet Union abandoning the war and allowing the Race to concentrate their forces elsewhere. Ultimately, though, I decided it was too implausible and abandoned it.

As for Goldfarb, in Homeward Bound during 1994, he was mentioned as still being alive, so I think him still being around here would be reasonable. It was said that he was a couple years younger than Moishe, who was eighty, so I took my best shot at his age.

At this point, I'm about 2/3rds of the way done with the novel. I think there's about another 8-10 chapters to complete, and my goal is to finish it by May. As always, please read and review.


	19. Chapter 19

August 3, 1983:

_And here we go again, _Betvoss thought as he walked off the starship. Throughout the war, he had been sent from front to front. First the United States, then China, and now... the USSR. Even though it was local summer, he couldn't help but shiver. What this region was like in winter he dared not contemplate.

"Wasn't sure we were going to get out of that one." Utriel sighed. He had never enjoyed transports, doubly so when the Big Uglies were doing everything they could to shoot them down. They had managed to make travel in starships extremely hazardous and if one of them was shot down over the planet's surface, thousands of males of the Race would perish with it.

"I hope all of you listened to the briefings they gave us during the trip," Votal instructed them. None of them were foolish enough to disobey; with the way the war was currently going, any tidbit of information could end up saving their lives in the future. Even with the briefings, however, their information about the region was quite limited, except for the fact that the war wasn't going well, either.

"What is this city called again?" Nesser asked, handing out the clothing to the rest of his squadmates. Betvoss sighed with relief; in summer, it was not necessary for a male to bundle himself up in several layers, but even so, he was not about to let himself freeze to death.

"It's... Donetsk, I think." Betvoss informed. The Race had dozens of killercraft throughout the city and at least at the moment, the Russians were not advancing here. If not now, though, then one day before too long. He walked through the dirt, wishing the Big Uglies in this region had the decency to pave some decent roads. According to males that had served here since the beginning of the war, half a year ago, the mud was so terrible that it seemed like the entire not-empire turned into a bog.

Absently, he wondered what was going to happen in the not-empire of China. He heard tales of more reinforcements, but where were they going to come from? Even though he knew the news feeds were telling at most a half-truth, if not outright lies, he still listened to him. Betvoss had heard nothing of more males arriving in China, only troops being transferred to other fronts.

_Too many seem to lack imagination, _Betvoss thought to himself. Far too many of his fellow males did not make the connection between males leaving China and no reports of reinforcements arriving. Nobody wanted to say it out loud, but it appeared as if soon the Race would be driven out of the not-empire entirely. They didn't have the males to hold down the enormous population, China had transitioned to a war-time economy, and had a near-endless supply of Big Uglies to throw against them.

He dared not speak of his thoughts to anyone, even his squadmates. Betvoss knew his superiors detested what they called "defeatism" and any male who was caught uttering them disappeared from the base. No one knew what happened to those unfortunate males, and nobody wanted to find out, either.

His rifle was ready for anything. Although the Race had improved their tactical ability (those who couldn't learn were dead), it was still not a match for the Big Uglies. War and conflict seemed to be a part of their soul; even after more than two years of fighting, Betvoss was still disgusted at such a savage, brutal species. Bandits were everywhere and only in large columns were they relatively safe.

"I think we're going to get there behind schedule." Utriel remarked, his foot momentarily caught in a pair of branches. Votal had to help pull him free.

"Since when has anything gone according to plan?" Betvoss asked cynically. Complaining about the war was mostly acceptable; it was only saying the Race faced defeat that would land a male in trouble. He immediately dived for cover when he heard a series of explosions, as did everyone else within earshot. The convoy was close to a tlock in width and twice that in length, but he feared for his safety even so.

More explosions were heard, and search parties were sent out, although with strict orders to retreat if they landed themselves into major trouble. "No reports of casualties; what are they trying to do?" Betvoss asked. The fact no male of the race had been killed or injured should have thrilled him, but it was so unusual that it made him uneasy in itself. If the Big Uglies weren't trying to kill them, what were they trying to do?

"Truth; this is not the way Big Uglies behave." Votal agreed. He didn't tell them to be careful; every male still alive had learned that lesson long since.

"I thought they were supposed to be over fifty tlocks away." Nesser complained. That of course did not include bandits and countless over troublemakers that sniped at the Race from behind the front lines.

"They're good at surprise attacks," Betvoss scoffed. The reasoning for the Big Uglies' actions soon became apparent. Instead of hitting the column, which would have been all but suicide, the enemy blew up trees instead. Hundreds were knocked over, forcing the Race to divert their precious vehicles and to find alternate routes. Males who were not slowed had to halt anyway in order to keep the column intact.

"Just what are they planning?" Nesser wondered. "That was an inconvenience, but nothing more." Betvoss smelled ginger; even with the danger, more than a few of his fellow males were tasting.

"So long as they're not shooting at me, I don't care." Utriel declared.

"They're playing with us." Betvoss decided. It was the only explanation he could think of. Their efforts had slowed them down, but not much. No, trying to keep the Race nervous, trip them up, and hopefully exploit any mistakes was a much more likely scenario.

They were badly delayed from their journey. Although the Tosevites did not openly attack, as many obstacles were put in the Race's path as possible. Betvoss knew the USSR was likely building up for another offensive and the more they could slow the Race, the better. He flinched at his demolition, believing each one to be an attack.

The Race arrived at Donetsk four hours after they were scheduled to arrive. "You're late," One of the supply officers complained. "Don't you realize how urgent we needed reinforcements?"

"Are you addled?" Votal demanded. "The Big Uglies did everything they could to delay us! When was the last time a column of reinforcements arrived when they were supposed to?"

"Late or not, I'm glad you've arrived." The more senior of the officers who greeted them proclaimed. "We're not going to stop the enemy outside of this city, and we must be prepared for them; we have little time to do so. Keep your eye turrets on every Tosevite; any of them may pull out a weapon at any moment."

"We are accustomed to that; it was the same in China." Betvoss reminded. He was hoping such tactics were exclusive to that not-empire, but it appeared that was not the case. The males they killed were relatively few in number, but it kept everyone on edge and frightened.

After the brief welcome, the new males were assigned to patrol. Betvoss would rather have taken some time for rest before going back out into the city, but he knew better than to complain. "No, of course we don't get any time to relax." Nesser was not as quiet about his discomfort. "That would have been convenient, and we can't have that, can we?"

"We have our orders, and the Big Uglies will be coming before long." Votal pointed out, although he was just as exhausted. Betvoss knew their weariness made them vulnerable and resolved to stay on alert, but knowing the danger and being able to do something about it were different things entirely.

"Strange seeing a small city after spending so much time in China." Utriel remarked. The Big Uglies looked different. Larger, although almost as hungry and held just as much hate for the Race.

"Truth," Betvoss made the affirmative hand gesture, though he kept his eye turrets on the Big Uglies walking through the streets, wondering which one would pull a weapon and open fire. Hardly any patrols ended without some sort of incident these days. Unfortunately, some civilians would get killed in the fighting, which would only inflame the Big Uglies further. _This isn't fear; why don't they blame the Big Uglies who shoot at us? _He complained to himself.

The Race did their best to act confident. If they showed any sign of weakness, the Big Uglies would only push them harder. Most did their best to ignore them, while Betvoss wished he could overlook the hateful glances sent their way. One of them was bound to attack, but which one?

. Betvoss smelled ginger among the males he was patrolling with. He had never gotten the habit himself, but he understand the reasoning. Half of them wanted to curse them for their stupidity, for their carelessness could get their comrades killed; the other half wanted to ask them for a taste so he could forget how the war was currently going. Although he had never mentioned it, he knew Nesser tasted occasionally. Whether by luck or genetics, however, he had shown no sign of physical dependence on the herb.

"Wonder which one of those building they'll start firing at us from," Betvoss muttered gloomily as his eye turrets scanned them. A couple nearby males hissed at him in annoyance, even if they were looking in the same direction. He tried to hold onto what optimism he could, but it was becoming more and more difficult to find.

The Spirits of Emperors past must have favored them, for their patrol suffered no attacks. Others were not as lucky; two males of the Race were dead, along with an unknown number of Big Uglies. They were to soften the Race up for the coming offensive, as well as keep them off guard.

Nor did the news improve when they arrived back at base. Betvoss was hoping to relax for a while, though he had learned from painful experience never to let down his guard entirely. The combined ginger and gas assault in China was the worst of them.

From what he had seen on the video feed, the Big Uglies had used more explosive-metal bombs. Three in China and two in India, whom the Race thought had been disarmed. "By the Emperor..." Utriel gasped in horror.

"What do we do now?" Nesser wondered, knowing that this was another fingerclaw in what was proving to be an ugly grave.

_How can we beat them? _Betvoss asked. He was wondering why he had heard nothing about the Race's response to the bombs; surely Straha would not sit idly by as tens of thousands of Race personnel were dead. What he didn't want to think about, but was looking increasingly likely, was that the Race simply had no explosive-metal bombs left to use.

"Why are we even here?" One of the males demanded, a killercraft pilot from his body paint. "Why are we wasting our time trying to conquer this worthless place?! We need to stop wasting our lives for the Fleetlord's glory and figure out how to go Home!"

Betvoss had the same thought, although he had never been courageous enough to stay it out loud. The male spoke truth, however. Try as he might, he did not see a way for the Race to emerge victorious. Even if they conquered Tosev 3, they would never be able to hold it, not with the constant guerilla activity among the Big Uglies. "Truth," Many males throughout the room agreed.

"The Emperor has ordered us to take Tosev 3, and it must be done." One of the males reminded, but while some agreed with him, far more agreed with the male demanding an end to the fighting.

"We want to go Home! We want to go Home!" Many of the males chanted. Betvoss watched, but did not join in, however tempted he was. Utriel was among the loudest, while Votal had disappeared, most likely to inform their superiors. Males who wanted no part of it left, but most stuck around. They might not have been disobedient enough to begin this themselves, but most agreed.

Others began to join in until the room was completely packed. Betvoss could hardly maneuver around and had already lost sight of his comrades. "Down with Straha!" He heard someone scream and soon that became the new cry. He began screaming it himself. Part of him wanted to continue being a Male of the Race, but he was so tired, so exhausted, so weary of seeing his fellow males die, of the Big Uglies' seemingly unstoppable advance that he didn't care anymore.

Even with his blood up, he couldn't help but wonder where his superiors were. There was no way they could miss a commotion like this. At any time, he was expecting the commander to show up and demand they disperse. _Let him; we don't have to listen. _He thought, something that would have been unthinkable mere minutes beforehand.

Being that many of the males screaming their lungs out were ginger tasters, however, their gloom began to overtake them. Gradually, they disappeared on their own imitative. The males were angry about the conduct of the war and how it was going, wanting to yell themselves out about complaining about it. Few were willing to keep their silence any longer and it helped them vent their frustrations.

Betvoss breathed a sigh of relief that none of their superiors marched in. He didn't know what would have happened then, but suspected that many males would have undergone severe punishment. _And if they refused to listen even then... _a nasty voice asked Betvoss. He couldn't see any male being that disobedient to their superiors, but with things the way they were... it could become quite unpleasant.

XXXXXXXXXX

August 6, 1983:

Rafael reluctantly got to his feet when it was apparent that he was unable to relax any longer. He was careful not to step on any of his family members; his parents were huddled together, while his sisters were busy whispering to themselves and laughing.

_I wish I was back home, _He thought sadly, but none of them had a home any longer. Countless homes had been destroyed due to the two nuclear strikes and their apartment was one of them. Ever since then, they had been forced to live alternately on the streets or at a badly overcrowded refugee center. The place smelled rank, as they were only able to bathe once a week, if that frequently. Rafael suspected he was just as bad, though.

Even now, he was still a little unsteady on his feet. Rafael had gotten a considerable dose of radiation poisoning as a result of the strikes and his body had still not fully recovered. He had never known such pain, such agony in his life. He spent weeks whimpering, sobbing, and praying to God to let him live. _All of that when I was supposed to be brave, _he scoffed. None of his family members ever commented on it, not even Magdalenaor or Bianca, but he felt like a coward nonetheless.

The doctors, or what remained of them, told him that he was lucky. When Rafael had seen the planes coming over, he dove for cover in an underground staircase. Had he not done that, they told him, the radiation poisoning would have killed him. Others who had gone about their business ignoring a handful of enemy planes hadn't been as lucky.

_Yeah, lucky. _Rafael scoffed, making sure to steady himself. His muscles were still weak from being cooped up in bed for over a month. He had gotten more than 4 Grays; Rafael assumed that meant a degree of radiation.

"Son, sit down; you look like you're about ready to collapse." Edwardo informed politely, but it was an order all the same. His father had found himself out of work since the plant was destroyed and nobody else was hiring. Combined with the fact their home was ruined, they were stuck here for god-knows how long.

"So when do we have to leave?" Rafael asked. Rations for the day were due to be given out at noon. He felt impatient, but he had long since gotten used to hunger. His body had adapted as well, allowing him to go longer without food.

"About... 80 minutes, now settle down." Edwardo told him. Rafael obeyed; his legs were starting to give out underneath him and he all but plummeted to the ground. He waited impatiently for the food and hoped the line to receive it wouldn't be too long.

"At least we're eating better now," Rafael sighed. For months, the government was insisting that things were going in their favor, but this was the first time he had seen any real evidence of it. Now times had improved all the way to difficult: the people in Los Angeles were merely going hungry, not starving to death.

"Did you say we're about to leave?" Bianca asked eagerly. Her stomach was rumbling along with everyone else's. She looked about ready to run out of the tent and cut to the front of the line.

"Just be patient; we'll get it soon." Edwardo promised. Evelyn pushed herself to her feet and walked out of the tent in order to use the facilities. All they had at the camp were some large holes that had been dug with bulldozers. The remaining pipes were being used to store water in case of another nuclear attack.

Bianca and Nena had stopped conversing among themselves, however, and waited anxiously for when they would get their food. Normally, it would have been his parents' job, but Rafael knew they were scared to leave them to fend for themselves. Without a home to protect them and in their current status, they were very vulnerable to any criminals that might be lurking. The soldiers couldn't protect everyone; hell, some of them were the criminals.

Rafael decided to continue standing for as long as he could. The doctors told him he needed to exercise to rebuild his muscles, but even with the more numerous cargo planes, there was still not enough food to go around. Fortunately, his father saw what he was attempting and stood by ready to catch him should he fall onto the concrete. Even Bianca and Nena were paying attention. However bratty they could be, they loved their older brother.

He walked around cautiously, trying to force as much strength into his legs as he could. If he moved slowly, he could walk without pain. Rafael moved out of the tent, momentarily stumbling. Edwardo grabbed his shoulder in order to steady him. Looking weak did not make him stand out; there were far too many in the tents who were in even worse shape.

Despite a valiant effort on his part, Rafael could only support himself under his own power for several minutes. Once it became apparent that he would be tempting fate if he walked around any longer, he reluctantly laid down, massaging his aching temples.

The rest of the time passed by slowly. Without a home, there was nothing he could do to entertain himself. Normally, he would be reading right now. "Can you give me some room?" Bianca complained about the cramped conditions. Rafael reluctantly did what he could, which wasn't very much. He pulled his legs back, however uncomfortable he might have been.

Finally, the time came to go and get their rations. His parents had talked with him in private, wanting him to do everything he could to protect his sisters. Rafael promised he'd do what he can, though he knew he'd stand little chance in an actual fight. He prayed that would not be put to the test, because he wasn't entirely sure he could do the right thing.

If it felt crowded before, it was nothing compared to what it was like now. Engines could be heard landing in the vicinity. "All of you have your ration cards, right?" Evelyn demanded. Unfortunately, Rafael forgot his, forcing them to go back inside their tent and get it. "Keep a close eye on it! Do you have any idea how many thieves are out here?"

"I'm sorry, I'll do better." Rafael lowered his head in shame. Having ration cards stolen was far from unheard of and indeed, had happened to them twice. His father had been tackled and roughed up two weeks ago by a group of young men. He knew better than to report it, however; if he did, something far worse was likely to happen. Growing up in a crime-ridden neighborhood taught them all not to squeal to police.

As the thought of food grew strong, so did his hunger. His father was carrying Bianca, as she was the larger of the two, while he held onto Nena's hand for dear life. Nobody wanted to see either of them wander off. It hadn't happened yet, but Rafael did not want to take any chances, not here, not now.

There were thousands gathered around the two aircraft, all demanding their food immediately. Everyone knew to keep a respectable distance, however. Although Rafael could not see over the heads of the crowd, he knew there were soldiers guarding the food, who had a shoot-to-kill policy for anyone who looked like they were going to try and take everything for themselves.

Along with the demands for food, there were also numerous offers. At first, the offers from some of the women in the crowd made his entire face blush, and his parents' attempts to cover all their ears did nothing to drown it out. Now, though, it was just a part of the scenery. There were even some men offering favors, although not as many; when times were difficult, many would do almost anything to survive.

Finally, they managed to get everyone into an organized line. The fact that no one had ever gotten anything until they quieted down never seemed to deter them. When Rafael asked why, his mother responded: "When you're as hungry as some of those people are, you don't care about the rules. I know we're not well off, but we're still lucky compared to a lot of them."

Rafael was forced to bite back a retort; he didn't want another lecture, not when food was close at hand. He checked his right pocket to make sure he still had his ration card; the left had a massive hole in it. Nena's was in her hand, crumpled up. Bianca was on his dad's shoulder, shouting abuse at the soldiers. "Where did you learn all that?" His father demanded, looking at her sternly.

_Yeah, I can't possibly imagine where. _Rafael replied sarcastically. His legs were about to buckle from the stress of his weight, and hunger was increasing his irritability. They had likely heard worse, even before the lizards came. His dad constantly swore when he thought nobody could hear him.

Rafael began to breathe hard, his eyes watering. Cursing his weakness, he tried to force himself to stand upright, but it become increasingly obvious that it wouldn't last much longer. Loathe though he was to wrap his arm around his father's shoulder, falling to the ground was even more humiliating. Logically, considering their situation, he knew that humiliation should have been the last thing on his mind, but old habits persisted.

The lines moved in an orderly fashion, although plenty of people were anxiously fidgeting impatiently for their portions. "How long are we going to be?" Rafael complained. Every time he waited in line, it seemed to last an eternity.

"It'll be around half an hour; try to be patient." His mother assuaged.

"Come on, I want some food already!" Nena demanded, muttering to herself. Rafael could made out a few of the words, some of them even he hadn't previously known.

"We'll get it soon enough," Rafael promised, although he privately wanted to curse right alongside her. It didn't seem to stop that many people, anyway.

Finally, it was their turn. Rafael and his sisters were the first to turn in their cards, and were handed parcels of food in return. He was grateful that they were considerably bigger than they were a couple months ago when things were at their worst, but that didn't make things pleasant. He smiled, sniffing the food, even though it was wrapped in tinfoil and plastic.

However, he noticed something different... they didn't look like the planes that had come before. One of them had an unfamiliar marking... upon closer examination, Rafael spotted the hammer and sickle painted onto it. "Those are Soviet planes!"

"They've decided to help us; haven't you been watching the news?" One of the guards asked before taking them out of the line so others could receive theirs. In fact, they hadn't; news was the very last thing on the family's minds, except for hoping to hear that the Siege of Los Angeles had finally ended. Hope had dimmed, but never died entirely. His parents prayed daily for the siege to end and so did Rafael, albeit less frequently.

Now for the second part of their journey. His mother carried most of the food, while his father had his hand in his pocket, watching warily. Once the soldiers were out of sight, at least some muggers and other criminals would try and steal the food. He didn't know what kind of protection his father had- whether he had anything at all- but they hoped that simply looking prepared for trouble would prevent it.

They were hoping that no one would notice them in the crowd. Fortunately, the soldiers were keeping a close eye on them to make sure there were no thefts, but with so many people, it was impossible to watch all of them. Thankfully, they had arrived at their tent without any incidents. His father still stood right outside the tent, and Rafael could clearly see the switchblade he was carrying. They might have been illegal, but it didn't stop anyone in the area from carrying them.

Rafael all but tore the box open, wanting to get at his rations. He gulped down the grains as fast as he could. It was food he would have scoffed at in the past, but now it was the best thing he ever tasted. "Hey, you've got your own!" Rafael snarled at Bianca when she moved towards him. "Piss off!"

"Rafael, do not use that language when talking to your sister!" His father snapped at him. "Apologize!"

"But... I'm sorry, Bianca." Rafael sighed, cursing mentally. "You do have your own food, though. Don't mooch off mine." He knew he was being selfish, but he was too hungry to care. With rations at 1,600 calories, they would have an easier time living on it than he would.

Once they had eaten, he began to feel like a human being again, instead of a half-starved adolescent. Even his legs were beginning to feel a little stronger because of it. "You think this is ever going to be over?" His mother whispered, hoping her children wouldn't hear, but Rafael had no trouble picking it up.

"I... I believe it will, sooner or later." His father whispered back. Bianca and Nena obviously heard them, but for once, they had the sense to keep quiet. "The lizards haven't made a serious push into the city for a long time. Fresno's been retaken, and we've got some hope on the streets at last."

"I hope so; I keep praying for it." His mother responded, her voice going even lower. Her kids discreetly moved closer so they could continue to listen. "I'm just worried that we won't make it, that our kids won't make it. What can we do if they drop more nuclear weapons on us?" Her voice went up again accidentally, indicating just how frightened she was of the possibility.

"I don't know, except hope we can shoot them down." Edwardo admitted sadly. "I worry about it too, every single day, but we've got to go on. We've got to keep living our life."

"What life?" She hissed acidly. "We've living in a tent; we have no home! We nearly lost our son! " She said that much louder than she intended, with Rafael, Bianca, and Nena staring at her. Rather than answer, she grabbed her husband by the arm and led him out so they would be able to talk privately. His sisters did not speak, faces far too grim for people so young.

That was the question: even when the siege ended- Rafael tried hard not to think about the "if" attached to that- what would they have left? They were homeless, his parents did not have a job, and it was beyond their current capacity to leave the city to start a life elsewhere.

_Will we make it? _Rafael wondered. He asked himself that every single day as well. He didn't like thinking of his mortality, but considering the radiation poisoning nearly killed him, it rarely left his mind. He prayed they did: he, his family, the city, the entire country had suffered more than enough.

XXXXXXXXXX

August 10, 1983:

"Exalted Fleetlord, what are we going to do?" Kirel inquired. "Have you read the latest reports?"

"Of course I have!" Straha snarled. "Do you take me for a fool?" Straha had been in an extremely foul mood over the last half-year. He was certain that by now, they would be on the verge of victory. Atvar was too incompetent to pull it off, but he was not. The Big Uglies could be beaten... and they would be beaten.

Even he, however, had to admit that the situation did not look good. The Americans had won two major victories preventing him from linking his forces from the west and east. Close to 200,000 males were dead, with twice that many injured, and another 110,000 captured. They had taken Fresno on the West Coast and were making a steady march towards Los Angeles.

"Exalted Fleetlord, I must regretfully conclude that this is not a fight we can win." Kirel warned. "Our males are now showing great reluctance to go into combat, and we are losing territory on almost every front. This is the warmest time of the year for the northern hemisphere on Tosev 3. If we cannot consolidate our gains, let alone advance when the weather is most advantageous, how are we going to survive the local winter?"

"Increase the penalties for resistance." Straha ordered. "Kill 100 Big Uglies for every Male of the Race they kill." He had implemented it in China, the United States, and the Soviet Union, since they were the not-empires causing the most trouble for the Race.

"It... shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel responded hesitantly. "With all due respect... in areas where we have tried this, it only appears to increase resistance. Considering the Tosevite's biology and their strong attachments to their families and mates, this may inspire them to new heights of sabotage." What he left unsaid was that a significant number of commanders were refusing to follow those orders, which would have been considered anathema in the past.

Kirel's point was valid, but Straha did not care to listen to any such criticism at the moment. Even in more primitive areas, the Tosevites were causing great difficulty. In the not-empire of China, the Race held barely 15% of the country now. They were not going to win there. Reluctantly, Straha decided to pull the remaining 700,000 males out of the not-empire. If they could not win, he would at least make the defeat as least costly as possible.

He briefly considered using another nuclear barrage, but decided against it. Over half of his remaining tactical weapons were used in the two major battles in the United States, and the rapid Chinese advance. Another fifty-seven tactical nukes had been used by both sides. _No, I'm going to have to use something even more formidable against the Big Uglies. _Straha thought.

"I understand your concern, but the Big Uglies are faltering." Straha proclaimed. They couldn't possibly sustain this level of effort for very long. No, this had to be their last desperate gamble. "The price will be high, but we are the Race! We cannot falter, and we will not lose to barbarians!"

"What are your plans, Exalted Fleetlord?" Kirel asked respectfully, but even he couldn't keep a hint of derision from his tone. At first, it seemed like Straha could led them to victory. Now it looked like he was leading them into a complete disaster. What would the Big Uglies do to them if they lost, which was looking increasingly likely?

"However much I wish it were otherwise, we will have to withdraw from China." Straha declared. "That will free more males for conquering the greater threats to our efforts." He knew of only two places to use them: the United States and the Soviet Union. The skelkwank batteries that they had deployed to shoot down intercepting missiles were not enough. They were powerful enough to eliminate any missile the enemy sent their way, no matter what their speed, but the problem was that the batteries could only fire for a few minutes before being recharged, allowing the Big Uglies to overwhelm them. Four had already been destroyed.

In Europe, the situation was better, in that they actually occupied the territory. Only the major population centers were in secure control of the Race, however, and even that was dubious. Random Big Uglies killed Males of the Race every day, and no efforts at retribution seemed to deter them. Patrols deigned to hunt down bandits in the countryside often met messy ends.

"Exalted Fleetlord, I have news!" Pshing skittered into the room. Straha snarled; those reports were never pleasant. "According to our information... Hanoi has been retaken by the Big Ugly resistance. 6,000 of our males surrendered and are now their prisoners." When Straha did not reply, Pshing looked like he would open his mouth again, but decided it would be unwise to anger him any further.

"We'll see about this; prepare a pair of explosive-metal bombs." Straha demanded. "If we cannot win them over with goodwill and rewards, we will subdue them with terror!"

"Exalted Fleetlord... may I suggest we reserve our remaining bombs for more important targets?" Kirel suggested cautiously. Straha wasn't just angry; he was beginning to become unstable. "We do not have enough to waste... and Vietnam is a minor power. They can be nothing more than an annoyance to us." He braced himself for the fleetlord's response.

Straha mused on his subordinate words. He wanted nothing more than to punish Vietnam, but... unfortunately, his words made sense. "Very well, we will use them on other targets when they present themselves." He decided after several minutes of silence. "However, if even the weak powers of Tosev 3 begin to free themselves, that will only encourage weakness all around the planet."

"I agree, but with our resources so limited, we must pick and choose where best to use our males and bombs." Kirel made the affirmative hand gesture.

"However, we have lost countless males to capture, and that we absolutely cannot afford." Straha stated. "As of now, all our males fighting on the ground will be forbidden to surrender under any circumstances."

"Exalted Fleetlord!" Kirel gasped in shock. He only barely refrained from asking Straha if he had lost his mind. "Are you... asking them to fight to the death?"

"What I demand is for them to retreat and fight another day." Straha partially corrected. "If, however, no escape is available, yes, they are to fight to the death. Their resistance will slow the Big Uglies down, force them to expend resources suppressing them, while others will be able to regroup, re-arm, and counterattack." Even he did not particularly like giving such an order, but however heartless it was, the Big Uglies would be badly delayed by males ordered to fight to the death. Stubborn pockets of Big Uglies had slowed the Race back when the war was young; he would enjoy putting the enemy in the same position.

"It... it shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel agreed with some hesitation. "Understanding is not required; only obedience". It was a credo of the Race to obey a superior's orders regardless of what a subordinate's personal opinion was.

Straha drafted the orders electronically and distributed them to his generals. With close to half their landcruisers gone, about 40% of their killercraft eliminated (and 70% of their hovering killercraft), he was being forced into ever more desperate tactics. "I know you may not be happy about these orders, but I am merely doing what the Emperor has ordered us to do." He had no idea what the Emperor would actually say about what they were doing under the circumstances; the first reports of combat had only completed 1/12th of their journey.

He looked over information that he considered most important; for less important developments, Straha let underlings take care of the job for him. "It appears that they have ended all prisoner exchanges with us." He informed his second-in-command.

"That... seems like the logical thing to do." Kirel made the affirmative hand gesture. "The Big Uglies might be barbarians, but they are far from foolish. This indicates that they have much knowledge about our malepower shortages." And getting shorter by the day. About 4 million Males of the Race were dead, about 1.6 million captured, and two million recovering from wounds. Their medicine was much more advanced than that of the Tosevites, but they were almost completely out now, forcing their wounded to recover the slow way.

"We must free up whatever males we can." Straha declared, more to himself than Kirel. He looked at the city that was currently under siege. "Pull six divisions from this city and send them to the western front of this not-empire. We have already used far more resources than this city is worth; its defenders and civilians can stay inside and rot."

"Yes... I believe that is wise, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel stated. It was in fact what he had been advocating for over 2 year-tenths. He saw efforts to conquer the city as a waste of effort and more than once, the males that were tied down trying to take the city could have made a crucial difference elsewhere.

"Tempted as I am to try more explosive-metal bombs, I do not think that will be enough." Straha vocalized. "The Big Uglies possess far more of these devices than ourselves, even after our best efforts to eliminate them." Their submarines had proven especially difficult; relatively few of them had been hunted down, even after all this time. "However, I believe we have another weapon, one that the Big Uglies cannot hope to defend themselves against."

"What other weapon do we have?" Kirel asked with puzzlement. "I feel it is my duty to remind you that the colonization fleet is behind us and we must keep Tosev 3 as intact as is feasible."

"Yes, I am well aware of that." Straha dismissed with a wave of his hand. It was, in fact, one of the reasons he continued the war (apart from his own desire for glory). He refused to leave the colonists at the mercy of a bunch of brutal, bloodthirsty Big Uglies. "Do you remember how I ordered a dozen of our starships to leave orbit?"

"I remember, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel pointed out. "I presumed that they were being sent to Tosev 5 and Tosev 6 to obtain fuel for nuclear fusion." That was one of the prime reasons the Race attempted to conquer Tosev 3, despite the unfavorable climate. None of their other conquests had such gas giants for the Race to mine.

"A few of them are, but others are... busy elsewhere." Straha's mouth hung on in satisfaction. He put a hologram on the screen and zoomed in. "Do you see this?"

"Yes, it is one of the rocks floating in orbit around Tosev." Kirel realized. "I do not quite grasp the significance of it, however."

_By the emperor, am I the only one capable of thinking? _Straha wondered to himself. "I will explain, then. You see, there are times when these rocks can end up on a collision course with Tosev 3. Quite similar to Home, except all of them there are inside a ring and almost never come out of it. If, however, we alter its course and send it crashing towards Tosev 3..."

"By the emperor!" Kirel exclaimed in sheer astonishment. No male of the Race would have thought to use asteroids as weapons. Well... almost no male. "Do you know what the resulting energy would be?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Straha responded smugly. "Approximately 2.5 times the energy of all our bombs we brought on our arrival combined. The rock should cause enormous devastation to their not-empire and unlike our explosive metal bombs, they will have no hope of shooting it down. I have already located other asteroids that can serve a similar role, and their courses are being altered as we speak." None of the others the starships were adjusting were nearly as large, but the ones he chose should make it through Tosev 3's atmosphere.

"When... when will the first one hit?" Kirel asked, still not fully over the surprise. It was a devastating weapon, yes, but it was also a tactic of desperation.

"At its current speed, approximately a quarter of a year." Straha announced, his confidence building with every word. "They will have no other option but to surrender; Tosev 3 will be ours!"

XXXXXXXXXXX

As I said before, the war isn't over just yet. Probably no other Male of the Race except for Straha would have thought of it, especially since the Race as a whole never seemed to consider orbital bombardment as a weapon. And it's something that we cannot defend ourselves against at the moment.

The scene with Betvoss was meant to be a similar situation to what you saw with Ussmak in Upsetting the Balance, although since their superiors were smart enough to simply let them yell and complain, it had a considerably different ending... this time, at least.


	20. Chapter 20

XXXXXXXXXX

September 13, 1983:

"Never thought we'd be marching into Paris again." Alexis muttered to himself. He had fought in what seemed like every area of the country and now he was back in their capital.

The lizards were consistently losing ground. Most of the surrounding towns near Paris had either been recaptured, or the lizards surrendered with only minimal resistance.

"I wonder when the Limeys and Yanks are going to cross the channel again." Lucien mused. Just like in 1944, they were building up in Great Britain to cross over in force. Unlike then, the lizards had few fortifications equivalent to the Atlantic Wall.

"I'd rather beat them before they arrive; I don't want to spend the rest of my life listening to those arrogant pricks bragging about how they had to rescue us again." Alexis shuddered at the thought.

"It's not that bad; we've retaken plenty of territory on our own this time." Ferdand declared proudly, sounding like he was personally responsible for it. He wasn't completely wrong; they had played a vital role in keeping France in the war.

"Lizards have figured it out too; hope the next group we encounter surrenders as well." Gastion remarked. Their current job was to escort their current load of prisoners into prisoner-of-war camps. The prisoners nearly outnumbered the division, but they had been completely disarmed and were warned of the consequences of trying to flee. "Amazing how docile they are once we capture them."

"I think they believe we're their superiors now, so they have to obey us... or something along those lines." Alexis sighed. While they were fighting them, though, they were still deadly foes, if less so than they were a year ago.

Since they knew how critical the lizards' manpower shortage was, all prisoner exchanges had been ended. They were still holding hundreds of thousands of French, Germans, and others, but on a proportional basis, ending the exchanges hurt the Race far more. "Will we be fed soon, superior sir?" One of the lizards asked him. Alexis thought he was part of a tank crew, but still didn't know their body paint well enough to tell for sure.

"Once we get there, we'll have food." Alexis promised. Some of the lizards were going hungry, being that food had to be split between the prisoners and human soldiers. Some of their agriculture had been destroyed, although mercifully not enough to cause any sort of famine.

None of the lizards attempted to escape. Alexis hadn't really expected them to. Even if they had somehow managed to escape their guns, they would still be unarmed and without food and water on an alien world. Rescue for them would be far from a guarantee, especially now. "Think they'll try and bomb us?" Lucien worried, his eyes scanning the sky.

"Probably not; they don't want to kill their own kind." Alexis responded. He had been slightly worried about that himself. Leading a column of prisoners made them a major target, and with few trees to obscure their vision, the lizards could exact a fearful toll had they wanted.

"I really don't like the idea of using them as human... well, living shields." Bastion sighed. "I know it's kept us safe more than once, but there's... something wrong about that."

"Long as it keeps us from being bombed or shot, I'm not complaining." Ferdand dismissed. Alexis didn't like it either, but knew it helped keep him alive. He had no doubt that in the future, historians would be condemning them for it, calling it a war crime.

_So long as I'm alive at the end of this, they can call it whatever they want, _Alexis thought. Now that the war was winding down, there was a concentrated effort on everyone's part not to end up dead. That had always been the case, but now that it looked to be nearly over, no one wanted to be among the last soldiers killed.

A month ago, the POW had only a few hundred residents. Now there were close to 50,000 lizards residing inside there. The ones being escorted looked eager, even desperate for food. France didn't have the resources to supply them all, and so just about all of them went hungry. Had they been human, disease would have run rampant, but it seemed like they were immune to most Earth microorganisms.

He gave out some of his rations to the more desperate lizards, who looked almost pathetically grateful. His men gave him an _have you lost your mind? _look, but since he was their superior officer, none of them actually said anything. Alexis wasn't entirely sure why he was doing it himself, but enemy or not, he wasn't willing to see them suffer, not when they posed no threat.

"Wonder why they haven't tried to rescue their fellow lizards," Lucien mused. They were relaxed, at least as much as could reasonably be expected. No one was likely to shoot at them, not with so many lizards near them. They were patrolling the confines of the prison, just to make sure nobody tried to escape.

"They probably can't, not with them losing ground everywhere." Bastion suggested reasonably. "Now that we're not exchanging prisoners anymore, they have little left to fight with."

"What about our prisoners?" Lucien worried. Alexis remembered that he had a younger cousin being held by them. "Forget his name, but the lizard in charge of their fleet is insane. What if he decides to kill every single one of them, for no other reason than he can?"

"He has to know what would happen if he did," Alexis declared, though privately he wasn't so sure. It did appear that he had few nuclear weapons left, since he hadn't followed through on his threat to wipe out France's cities. _But he's still fighting, in spite of overwhelming odds. _Alexis remembered.

"Am I crazy... or do I not hate these lizards as much as I should?" Bastion asked, looking them over. None of them looked dangerous in the poor-quality cells that had been built. "They're so pathetic that I can't help but feel a little sorry for them."

"You're going soft; who cares about those fucks?" Ferdand snarled. "They should be grateful we don't kill them on the spot."

"Have to do something with them when the war's over," Bastion insisted. "We can't kill all of them, or we're no better than we are."

"We can start arguing philosophy when all of this is over." Alexis intervened. Helpless or not, he kept a close eye on them. They were supposed to be obedient when captured, but it wouldn't be the first time their intelligence services made a mistake.

"They can help rebuild everything they destroyed, make themselves useful." Lucien remarked. "It's only fair to help with the reconstruction."

An alarm began echoing before Alexis could reply. He momentarily thought that they were under attack, before he remembered it was used to signal meal time; most of the lizards knew very little of their language. "Guns up, look ready." Alexis ordered. His squad looked a little skeptical, but they followed his orders. If they were going to try anything, now would be the time. The more prepared they looked, the less likely they would actually have any difficulties.

The food was cheap and boring, but there was at least a greater quantity of it for them. Ginger was given freely to those who wanted it; a significant number of lizards were ginger addicts or at least ginger tasters at this point. Ferdand scowled, but said nothing about it.

Now that the war looked to be in its final stages, Alexis' thoughts went towards his family; his sisters, Agnes and Josette, his parents, and what remained of his grandparents. He hadn't heard from them for months, and was getting increasingly concerned. _You're not the only one; I'm sure they're fine. _Alexis told himself, over and over again.

XXXXXXXXXX

September 16, 1983:

Reuven cheered to himself. Finally, Israel was completely free of invaders! They were the second to completely drive back the Race, shortly after China did so.

He looked around Al Bireh There was rubble in every direction, although not as many civilian casualties as was initially feared. While a formidable enemy, the lizards did not go out of their way to kill civilians. Intelligence indicated that for them, wars were rare and they had no experience of the kind of brutality humans sometimes conducted.

There were thousands of prisoners taken, perhaps as many as fifteen thousand. Reuven had spoken their language well and was hoping for the opportunity to question then. He insisted that he was competent for the job, but his superiors wanted him doing something else.

Therefore, he was walking through Al-Bireh, merely observing without calling attention to himself. Although they would not say it in words, Reuven's impression was that at least some feared that the Palestinians would take advantage of the chaotic situation in order to commit acts of violence. Relations between the two sides were hostile at the best of times, and there had already been a series of attacks, though gratefully, no deaths.

As he walked through the streets, he felt a lot of eyes on him. There were almost no Israelis here and he stuck out like a sore thumb. Reuven was skilled at infiltration, but there were some things no clothes or mannerism could disguise Nobody was willing to do anything more than glare, but whenever he walked near anyone, they become mysteriously silent.

His hands never left his pistol; Reuven was ready for trouble, though he prayed to God that he wouldn't find any. Over the past two years, he had more than enough to last him a lifetime. He had occasionally considered retiring and living a quiet life, but by now, he didn't know what else to do with himself. An agent was who he was. _What am I going to do, become a doctor? _Reuven laughed at the thought.

Like everyone else, they were doing everything they could to rebuild. To his right, Reuven observed tents where people who had lost their homes were residing. There were few members of the Red Cross; ever since the war started, most international organizations had fallen apart and mostly, each nation was looking out for its own people.

_Should I risk going there? _Reuven thought. It technically wasn't part of his mission, but it would give him a perfect opportunity to observe; he was already carrying food in a backpack for just such an occasion. After a few moments of thought, he decided to help out.

The first response he received when he walked near the refugee camps was a mixture of surprise and hatred. Although Israelis and Palestinians had managed to cooperate and fight together when they were under occupation, now that the immediate threat was over, there was next to no humanitarian cooperation. Many on both sides outright refused to assist others.

He opened the backpack and started handing out food. Even though his ingrained distrust of them was as strong as ever, he couldn't help but be moved at the sight of hungry people, particularly children. Realizing that they were likely just as wary of him as he was of them, Reuven moved slowly and set the food on the nearest table.

Eventually, their hunger won out and they grabbed the food faster than Reuven thought they could move. He relaxed a little. Not much, but he took his hand off his weapon. _They may be hostile, but I don't think they're a threat, at least not an imminent one. _The analytic part of his mind began to take over.

They ate cautiously, as if believing he would take the opportunity to shoot them down. Reuven was ready to fight if it came to that, but had no plans to strike the first blow. "Why are you helping us?" One of the refugees demanded. He looked to be around 15 and had a grim, haunted face, like so many others. "This isn't how Jews behave."

"I'm helping you because we're on the same side." Reuven pointed out, deciding not to rise to the bait. He had heard anti-Semitic slurs too often for it to bother him very much. "Even if we've driven them out, the war isn't over." He didn't mention the ideal that they were all one people. Had he uttered those words, Reuven knew he would have received laughter and derision.

"Well... thank you, Jew." The adolescent finally sighed. "I never thought anyone would help us." His face changed from dislike to neutral. It was likely he'd never like them, but so long as he could keep the boy from trying to riot or attack, it would be worth it.

"What are you trying to pull?" Another refugee demanded, this one much more skeptical than the last. "He's trying to poison us!" Reuven grit his teeth and listened to some of the insults, mostly about his religion.

"A kike can't be trusted!" Another insisted. Reuven's hand discreetly went to his pistol again. However, he was grateful to see that not everyone in the camp were listening to the loudmouths and some were physically restraining him.

"You would kill a guest?" an elderly man whispered furiously. "A guest that has given us food and medicine? It would be a crime against Allah to harm him!" He turned to Reuven and declared. "Thank you for... for your assistance."

"You're very welcome," Reuven responded, feeling more relaxed.

"Please bring us more; we have little, since Satan's servants came from the stars." A young woman pleaded. Her clothes completely covered her body and gave no hint of her sex until she spoke up.

"I'll do everything I can, I promise." Reuven told him. He would do what he could for them personally. Whether his superiors would listen was dubious at best, but he would state his case. Although rather hungry himself, he handed them the last bit of food, which was distributed among the children.

_That went better than I expected, _Reuven admitted to himself once he left. He was half-expecting to be attacked, or even for one of them to pull out a weapon and try to kill him. However, while it was clear they still hated one another, there was noticeably less anger than there was before they arrived.

Peace with their neighbors and especially the Palestinians seemed unlikely even under ideal conditions, and Reuven always doubted he would ever see it, in his lifetime or ever. He had prevented over a dozen terrorist attacks throughout the year, listened to the pleas to free their "freedom fighters" and often believed that everyone was out to get them. Considering their history, it was often true, but often was not always.

"Wonder if we could come up with a peaceful solution..." Reuven muttered. Even now, he found it rather unlikely. They were currently reminded that they were part of the human race- the Race invasion had been a strong reminder of that- but how long would it last? Once they were beaten, would the feeling stay or would they go back to fighting among themselves again?

Even after everything he had endured, Reuven wanted with all his heart to believe that peace was possible. He intended to give his superiors information as accurately as he could. Both sides still hated each other as much as ever, but based on the impression he received at the camp, they weren't interested in more conflict. The whole country- most of the whole world- had enough of war and it hadn't even concluded yet, although the outcome was not in doubt.

"Have a pleasant stroll?" Goldfarb asked when he arrived back at his apartment.

"For the most part, yes." Reuven informed truthfully.

"You saying something positive?" Goldfarb joked. "The world must be coming to an end."

"Yes, very amusing." Reuven sighed. Far as he was concerned, if you weren't cynical, you had no business working for intelligence. "So what do we do after the lizards are beaten?"

"You would know better than I do, son." Goldfarb reminded. "In any case, we can't worry about that now. We've still got a war to win." That didn't answer the question; Reuven doubted anyone knew for sure until this business was finally concluded.

XXXXXXXXXX

September 18, 1983:

_Hard to imagine I'll be leaving this place soon, _Andrei thought. He had become quite familiar with Iceland during his long stay. Now that the war appeared to be entering its final phases, non-Nato personnel were beginning to leave the island.

Russia itself was now completely free of invaders and its ranks were growing by the day. The Baltic states and the other Socialist Republic under their umbrella still had many lizards inside them, but territory was being gained every day. The Soviet Juggernaut had reached its full strength and now there was no stopping them.

To make the news even more exciting, humanity was beginning to gain air superiority once again. It was only moderate and air raids by the lizards were still distressingly frequent, but with the older planes mostly destroyed, the modern ones were having much more success. The loss ratio was still in the lizards' favor, but with so few of their planes left, it made little difference in the long run.

"I wonder if the more optimistic projections will be correct." Andrei muttered. Some were predicting the war would be over by the end of the year. A natural pessimist, he was skeptical, but even he could not deny that the outcome was no longer in doubt.

But what were the lizards going to do now? They had received orders to fight to the last man. While some pockets of resistance could simply be bypassed, others were too strong to ignore and had to be cleared out bit by bit. Not all lizards followed through on those orders, deciding not to fight a losing battle, but far too many were obeying them to the letter.

_In other words, they can go on hurting us for a while longer; they can't beat us. _Andrei thought. More and more, they were resorting to tactical nuclear weapons. Once it was discovered that the Race had few of the devices left, the Politburo were more willing to use them. Both them and the United States had thousands of very small nuclear bombs, many of them only one kiloton, or even less. They were perfect for dealing with Race resistance that refused to surrender.

In Britain, Allied forces were building up to launch an amphibious operation in order to retake mainland Europe from the lizards. Not for the first time, Andrei scowled at their surrender; _What a bunch of spineless fools. _On the other hand, with the exceptions of France and Germany, they hadn't suffered many losses, at least not in comparison to the Soviet Union and especially the United States.

The Soviet Union was participating in it as well, although their presence was more symbolic than strategic. Now that the strain of the war had killed Andropov, Gorbachev looked like he would be the next General Secretary and both him and Reagan were hoping to use the invasion as a way to end the Cold War and were even hoping to bring about peace to their world.

Personally, Andrei didn't think it was very likely. The Middle East was an utter mess and it was clear to him that the instant the aliens were defeated, the Kurds, Iranians, and Iraqis would go right back to massacring each other on a large scale. They hadn't even won the war just yet and it was already beginning to occur.

"One thing at a time," Andrei muttered to himself. The lizards were beaten, but they weren't finished, and the Soviet Union had learned from painful experience that nothing fought harder than a cornered enemy. He expected them to fight as hard as the Germans had forty years before when they were in the same position.

_We need to get rid of Straha, _Andrei realized. He was practically keeping the war going all on his own. Even if most of the lizards saw how it would end, he was stubbornly refusing to give in. From what his limited knowledge of their psychology told him, the Race would obey their orders, no matter how suicidal they might be. It was nothing short of astonishing that some of them were in fact disobeying and giving in.

Saying it was one thing; actually killing him was quite another. So far as they knew, Straha never left one of the starships in orbit. However tempting it was to simply fire nuclear missiles on all of them, the human powers had enough experience with flaming, radioactive debris resulting from that to want to avoid it if at all possible. Andrei wasn't entirely sure, much of him believing that it would save more lives in the long run, but his superiors thought differently.

While they had learned the Race's signals, the highest-security ones were still beyond the capability of the code-crackers. Andrei was certain one of those codes would contain information as to where Straha was and all they'd need after that was a single missile. The starships had no defenses to speak of, something that astonished Andrei when he discovered it.

_None of the prisoners we've taken know where he is; Straha's hiding. _Andrei was sure of. Straha was intelligent enough, even though his delusions of grandeur, to comprehend that he was the driving force behind the conquest now. With his death, whoever replaced him would see sense. The fact he had overthrown the previous leader indicated that not all lizards agreed with his viewpoint.

His adjutant walked into his office. Andrei's face told the young man that whatever the interruption was had better be important. "Comrade General, we have just sent official demands for surrender."

"Has there been any reply yet?" Andrei questioned.

"No, Comrade, not at the present time." His adjutant replied. "Would you like me to return when I discover?"

"No need, I will find out for myself." Andrei dismissed him. He expected an angry refusal, perhaps ending with Straha using whatever was left of their thermonuclear bombs. They obviously didn't have many, or they'd still be using them.

Once the most important of his reports were completed, Andrei hoisted himself onto his feet, making sure to keep a firm grip on his cane. The lizards had been ordered to surrender, but what were the conditions? Personally, he would like to make sure they were never in a position to threaten Earth again. _Wonder how much they would enjoy a fleet of Soviet ships in orbit around them? _He mused.

Shaking himself out of such pleasant thoughts, he continued walking through the corridors. Asking his own superiors never crossed his mind; they would tell him if and when he pleased. Andrei found it quite likely that the different powers were offering different terms.

"We warn the fleetlord not to reject our terms." One of the televisions was on and Andrei caught a fleeting glimpse of a speech. Margaret Thatcher, from the sounds of it. "Straha must see that he cannot win the war of aggression that he started 15 months ago. We pledged peace, yet you attacked without provocation. You have twenty-four hours to respond."

Andrei started tuning her out after that. _Most likely terms that are far too lenient. _He believed. _After everything they've done, how can anyone seriously entertain the notion that we can live in peace with the Race?_

"Comrade General, we are being assembled in the main room." His adjutant walked up to him.

"There were no meeting scheduled today," Andrei responded; he made sure to stay on top of things and was specifically informed that there would not be.

"It's just between you and General Robinson; he asked for you specifically." Andrei was not the only Soviet General, but he was the most well-known among the western powers.

"All right, I'll head over there; tell my lazy interpreters to get off their asses and do their job." Andrei snarled; he was tired of meetings, however important they might be. He could speak fluent English by now, but it was best if they didn't know that; he might catch a piece of vital intelligence. Andrei hobbled over to his opposite number's office, scowling beneath his normally impassive face.

"Ah, Taktarov, just the man I wanted to see." Robinson told him in Russian. He spoke it with an obvious accent, but it was at least understandable. "Have a seat."

"What is this about, Robinson?" Andrei asked, unable to keep all of the annoyance out of his voice. He spoke through his interpreters, but based on Robinson's raised eyebrow, knew that Andrei could speak English. _Damn, _He cursed; he thought he had done a skilled job at keeping it secret, but evidently not skilled enough.

"Just a discussion about what we're going to do after the war." Robinson responded. "Officially, this meeting isn't taking place. Officially, I'm on the phone with the Secretary of State."

"We haven't won just yet; let's not get ahead of ourselves." Andrei pointed out. He doubted Straha was going to give in; he would have to be killed and killed immediately. The lizard wouldn't be able to hide from the KGB forever.

"The war can't be won and every single male of the Race is aware of this by now." Robinson dismissed, foolishly in Andrei's opinion. "The question is what we're going to do with them once the war is over."

"Killing them all would be a start," Andrei remarked, realizing only too late that he had spoken those words out loud. He glared at the interpreter who translated, who looked back with a nervous smile. Now that the damage was done, however, he continued on. "At the very least, keep them from ever posing a threat to us again."

"Yes, my government has the same goal." Robinson stated. "Under ideal circumstances, we could simply convince them to leave our solar system just the way they came, but this is not an ideal situation."

"They won't leave their colonization fleet unprotected and they fear what we might do to them if the Race left." Andrei realized. It would explain why many were fighting on for a cause that was clearly hopeless.

"We've hit that snag in the past." Robinson nodded. "This means that once we succeed, the Race and ourselves will be co-existing for at least another twenty years until their second fleet arrives. Based on our estimates and the different years, the Colonization Fleet should arrive in early 2004, give or take a couple months."

"Regardless of what you decide, my superiors are not going to allow the Race to colonize a square meter of our Rodina."Andrei made clear. "What are the terms you have offered?"

"Surrender of all weapons, with all Race personnel in orbit to land, to be interned until further notice." Robinson informed. "We're already setting aside some space for them, in parts of our country that they will find tolerable."

"That's more than they deserve." Andrei snapped. "After all they've done to you, all they've done to Earth, you're going to let them off so lightly?!" The United States had suffered more than anyone, yet they were still willing to reconcile? Robinson's body language indicated that he did not agree, but would obey his superiors.

"We've got to do something with these critters." Robinson insisted. "They're going to be here at least until 2004 when the colonists arrive. Possibly afterwards; the decision has not been finalized just yet."

"There are ninety million colonists on those ships; where can we possibly find room for all of them?" That was the least of Andrei's objections. "Furthermore, if we allow them to settle here, the Race will still have won a victory. It'll only give them more incentive to send more colonists here in order to overwhelm us with sheer numbers. My government will never allow it."

"Killing them is out of the question, however... we're not going to do it." Robinson hastily covered up his slip. It had crossed Andrei's mind as well, but even though killing millions of aliens trying to conquer Earth didn't bother him, killing millions who surrendered to them did. For all their bluster, the Politburo didn't have the stomach for it. Andrei knew Stalin might have, but their most brutal leader was thirty years dead.

"Then what do we do with them?" Andrei questioned. Even the reform-minded Gorbachev wasn't about to allow alien colonists to settle in the Soviet Union and for all their self-righteousness, he doubted the United States would do so either. "We can't allow them to remain a threat."

"We can support what remains of their forces until their colonists arrive," Robinson nodded. "Whatever else we ultimately decide, we are going to make sure they never pose a threat to us again."

"I agree; btw, congratulations on your latest victory." Andrei pointed out. The Americans had finally wrested the province of Ohio from the lizards' grip. _Wait, they call them states over there. _Andrei remembered.

"Thank you, Comrade General." Robinson gave an ironic grin.

"What are we going to do with their leaders?" Andrei asked. "They cannot be pardoned for their crimes against us, and regardless of what many members of the Race think, Straha is determined to fight to the better end."

"Under the surrender terms we sent out, Straha and the others will be interned until their colonists arrive, after which they will leave and never return." Robinson sighed. "However much they deserve execution, many feel that it will be counterproductive."

"We should at least set an example." Andrei insisted. Many of the German war criminals went free after the Second World War, at least the ones that hadn't been killed in combat. That was a mistake the Soviet General dearly hoped that they would not make again. "Straha should be executed for his crimes, as should all of his subordinates." The Race had not starved and massacred civilians as the Nazis had; over 80% of the Soviet Union's losses had been soldiers.

"On a personal level, I agree, but I have my orders." Just the fact he would admit that to a man that was supposed to be his enemy spoke volumes over how unhappy he was with the orders.

"I will speak plainly: this war will not end until Straha is dead." Andrei decided to lay all his cards on the table. "It does not matter what anyone else thinks; so long as one male is alive, he will continue fighting us. None of his subordinates are willing to challenge him, meaning that there is no point in trying to convince him to surrender.

As if to punctuate his words, a U.S. Major knocked and walked in, stating: "Sir, you may want to listen to this." He set a radio onto the desk and messed with the frequency for a few moments.

"Do you foolish Big Uglies believe you can triumph over us?" Straha warned, a translator providing the words. "We are the Race; we cannot be beaten! You are the ones who should surrender, or else your species will face annihilation! You'll see wisdom soon enough!" He went on for another several minutes, continuing to utter threats. To Andrei's ears, the lizard was becoming increasingly unstable.

"What more does he hope to do?" Robinson asked in honest confusion. "They have few thermonuclear weapons left, many of his men are surrendering, and even the ones who fight on are being beaten."

"He sounded rather sure of himself; I wouldn't underestimate him." Andrei warned again. "He needs to be killed if we are to end this war." That would be difficult, especially since their starships were in Medium Earth Orbit now, above the range of any of their surviving missiles.

"But what more can he throw at us?" Robinson repeated. Andrei was positive that they would soon find out. He only hoped that it wouldn't kill too many people.

Their previous conversation was at an end, with both of them waiting to hear what the Race intended to do now. Their missile defenses had greatly improved from what they were when the war began, meaning that even if the Race launched every nuclear weapon they still had, the majority would not do any damage. _But he sounded sure of himself; does he have an even deadlier weapon? If the Race does, why haven't they used it before now? _

"Attention: there is an asteroid approximately eighty-five meters in diameter heading directly for Earth." The loudspeaker warned. "Its estimated to impact the Atlantic Ocean in approximately fifteen minutes."

Andrei's eyebrow raised as he tried to hide just how horrified he really was by the news. An asteroid? He knew little about them, but understood that an asteroid of that size would hit earth with a force dwarfing any nuclear weapon the human powers possessed. What could they do to stop it? By the time it entered the range of their nuclear-tipped anti-satellite missiles, it would be too late. "At least we're safe for the moment."

"We are; my country is going to endure the blow." Robinson groaned. Andrei could see a single tear drooping from his eye. "Excuse me; we will resume this meeting later." He escorted Andrei out of his office, practically dragging him out the door.

For the next several moments, things were rather chaotic. Some people did not really want to believe this was really happening, not with the war so close to over. Others were screaming into their telephones, giving orders to destroy it. Andrei found that unlikely; the asteroid was traveling at least twice the speed of an ICBM and even if it was destroyed in the atmosphere, it meant they would be hit with thousands of smaller rocks instead of one big one.

All they could do was watch and wait. The base in Iceland was too far away to be affected by it, but no one knew for sure exactly where it was going to land.

XXXXXXXXXX

September 21, 1983:

"That will show them I mean business!" Straha laughed as he heard the reports of the asteroid's impact. While sending them on a collision course was much less accurate than he hoped- he had intended to set the asteroid on a major city- it was also a weapon the Big Uglies could do nothing against.

"Their casualties were relatively minimal." Kirel reminded. The rock slamming into the ocean had caused a major tidal wave, but being around 100 Tlocks (200 kilometers) away from the coast, the tsunami, while dangerous, was not enough to kill a great deal of Big Uglies. Between 15,000 and 25,000 were currently estimated, both by the Race and the Tosevites.

"No matter; I've already modified the orbits of half a dozen others in their direction." Straha let his mouth hang open. "None of them as big, unfortunately, although our researchers are still searching for more suitable objects. Using them from the belt between Tosev 4 and Tosev 5 would take too much time; these asteroids are much simpler."

"But what are they going to do to us now?" Kirel asked with concern. He had expected a massive response already.

"They have proven unwilling to use explosive metal bombs in their own cities, and I've moved the skelkwank batteries onto the front lines where retaliation is most likely." Straha responded smugly. "The Big Uglies have grown too confident, and now they are going to pay for it."

"Exalted Fleetlord, even with orbital superiority, our males cannot hold onto the gains they made when the conquest was young." Kirel forced himself to say, bracing for Straha's reaction.

"Even more important than the blast itself is their reaction." Straha dismissed as it Kirel had said nothing at all. "The morale of our males have been boosted and already they are beginning to advance again." Despite the odds, Donetsk had been successfully held and the Soviets were now on the retreat in that region. "It's given them hope and a warning for the Big Uglies to capitulate before we kill them all."

"Exalted Fleetlord... this is a major gamble." Kirel responded hesitantly. He had read the latest reports and knew that Straha was speaking the truth. "Military forces in the United States are an estimated 12 million and growing, the Soviet Union have even more, and the smaller powers are continuing to build up as well. Can we damage them enough for them to consider surrender?"

"Not immediately, no, but they will learn." Straha proclaimed. "The first of the new asteroids will hit them in eight days."

"Exalted Fleetlord, this is a... daring move." Kirel reluctantly gave him some respect. "I do not believe any other male would have considered it."

"Of course not; they have no imagination." Straha preened.

"Where is it estimated the next asteroid will hit, Exalted Fleetlord?" Kirel asked.

"Somewhere in this general area; we need more accurate targeting." Straha admitted. Based on the map, it could land anywhere between Moscow and Warsaw, with an open question as to whether it would hurt the Tosevites at all. "And larger rocks, preferably one that can truly wreck the not-empires."

"Exalted Fleetlord... a rock that size would also ruin the world for our colonists, at least temporarily." The Race had a much stricter definition of "ruined" than the Tosevites, but any asteroid big enough to cause such damage would cause major damage to the climate.

"We can worry about that once we've won, and any such damage will only be temporary."Straha looked jubilant at the prospect of hitting them in such a fashion. Kirel turned away, not wanting his superior to see what was going through his mind.

Now that the Race had improved their capabilities for hunting down what they referred to as submarines, the Tosevites would run out of explosive-metal bombs to hit them with. Two more had been sunk over the past twenty days, although their detection abilities were still far from perfect. _I told Atvar I would succeed where he failed. _Straha thought.

There was another asteroid he had detected that was three times the diameter of the one he had sent towards Tosev 3 and would impact with ten times the force. The problem was that not only was it over half a year away, it was not a close encounter like the others he had used. It would be far more difficult to aim, move, and land it on a proper target.

Pshing ran into the room, looking to be on the verge of panic. "Exalted Fleetlord!" He exclaimed urgently.

"Don't tell me something else has gone wrong!" Straha screamed at Atvar's former adjutant. _Is everyone but me a fool? _Straha demanded. To his biased eyes, that appeared to be the case. Realizing he had to hear the news no matter how unpleasant, he asked: "What is it?"

"Exalted Fleetlord... the Big Uglies have detonated twenty explosive metal bombs over our air bases, including the Big Ugly airports we were using." Pshing gulped, bracing himself for Straha's reaction.

"How could this have happened?" Straha bellowed, looking ready to rip Pshing's belly open with his fingernails. This was an utter disaster! It meant that they had lost air superiority to the Big Uglies even within territory they controlled.

"They used their shadowcraft to get past our radar and detonated them." Pshing explained.

"Are they indiscriminately killing their own males to harm us?" Kirel asked.

"Some of the Big Uglies have been exposed to radiation, but this does not appear to be the case." Pshing gulped, and looked at Kirel, hoping he would support him. "Analysis indicates that the Big Uglies used low-yield bombs to minimize the risk to their own mind. It's estimated that the explosive-metal bombs used were between 1/12 and 1/15 of our own tactical weapons (1 to 2 kilotons)

"Dismissed," Straha snarled, already planning his revenge.

"Exalted Fleetlord, what remained of our stockpile has been all but destroyed as well." Kirel felt obligated to point out. "I am receiving transmissions and based on our translators, the Big Uglies are once again demanding our surrender."

"Let them; they'll be dead soon enough." Straha dismissed. "We'll continue to fight until they break."

"With what?!" Kirel finally snapped, this time not using Straha's honorific. "What do we have left to fight with? Most of our killercraft are gone, we're running out of vehicles, fuel ammunition, and we're losing more territory every day. Even with your counterattacks and using rocks to bombard Tosev 3, we are losing this war! Our factory ships can't produce anything because they'll be destroyed if we land on the surface. If they managed to repel us during the summer, how are we going to survive, much less win, during the winter?"

"We still have weapons, and the Big Uglies certainly cannot keep this up for long." Straha reassured, or tried to. He thought seriously about removing Kirel from command, but reluctantly decided that it would only make the shiplords criticizing his conduct more vocal. "We have a weapon that they cannot counter, and despite everything the Race had endured, we fight on."

"Even if the Spirits of Emperors Past personally intervene and allow us to win, we cannot hold down the entire territory, not at half strength." Kirel tried to persuade. "Exalted Fleetlord... we should surrender. Already the terms are harsher than the initial suggestion for peace. We cannot win this war. They are growing stronger; we are growing weaker."

"You're just being defeatist; these Big Ugly savages are primitive and will submit to the Race once we kill enough of them." Straha replied dangerously.

Kirel stared at him in shock. It wasn't just that he didn't see the situation; Straha did and continued on regardless of the consequences. "If we continue and we die, they will be free to take vengeance on our colonization fleet." Kirel warned, hoping to deter him.

"We will fight until we are victorious." Straha snapped, making it clear that the debate was over. Kirel skittered away in horror, not even making the posture of respect.

Once Kirel was gone, Straha looked at the map. Even he wasn't delusional enough not to know things were going badly, but he believed he could turn it around with one major victory and a few more asteroid strikes.

XXXXXXXXXX

As for any questions about why we were unable to intercept the asteroid, keep in mind that in 1983, searching for Near-Earth objects was in its infancy. Only about 125 asteroids had been detected, all of them quite large. Over 90% of our current knowledge has only come in the last fifteen years, so Earth is still in considerable danger.

I needed to come up with some kind of plausible reason why the Race would want a planet as inhospitable to them as Earth. Even if we were as primitive as they expected, maybe one third of the planet would be comfortable for the Race and that's a generous estimate. Jupiter and Saturn, though, could provide an unlimited supply of nuclear fusion for travel, assuming you have the technology, which the Race does. Such valuable resources, I think, can help explain why the Race would want a planet that would otherwise be too cold for them.


	21. Chapter 21

October 20, 1983:

"I believe everything is in order," Andrei murmured to himself. He was ready to leave Iceland at a moment's notice, assuming he received the appropriate orders from his superiors. Even with the new threat, he was expecting it. The Race were not able to win and it was only a matter of time before they figured it out, even with Straha's lunacy.

_Reminds me of Hitler, _He thought to himself. Hitler had refused to give in, even when Germany itself was being invaded, outnumbered half a dozen to one, and with not to nothing to fight with. Straha was doing the same thing. Based on the communications they intercepted, it was only his delusions that were prolonging the war.

Despite the unfavorable weather, the Race was launching counterattacks into Russia. The sheer stupidity of the maneuver caught many of the Generals off guard and the Race advanced as much as 200 kilometers in a few areas. Now that many of the roads had turned into mud, they were finding it next to impossible to advance further.

"Foolishness, sheer foolishness." Andrei sighed. The Race was finished but they fought on anyway. His only problem with it was that they could still kill many people before they were beaten for good. Even in 1945, the Soviet Union suffered close to 1.5 million deaths at the hands of the Germans.

Using asteroids as weapons, however... that was something that truly chilled his blood. The first one killed close to 30,000 people in the United States and would have killed many more had it hit closer to shore. Over the past month, half a dozen others had been sent their way as well. So far, the human powers had been relatively lucky. All of them had exploded in the atmosphere, and never over any major cities. Astronomers estimated that the asteroids that were used were only between 20 and 40 meters in diameter.

The difficulty was that no one knew how many were out there. Asteroid detection was in its infancy, but everyone knew there were likely hundreds of times more Near-Earth Objects than what they had found so far. To make matters worse, there was nothing they could do to stop them once they entered the atmosphere.

Astronomers from all around the world were searching the skies for asteroids being sent towards Earth. Even if they could do nothing to shoot it down, it was hoped that it would at least provide time for people to evacuate if it was aimed at a major city. So far, they had exploded in the atmosphere over the ocean or isolated areas, indicating that the Race did not know how to precisely aim the rocks.

The difficulty was that even if they could determine the rock would hit a major city, evacuating would be an enormously difficult task, and many would not be moved in time. It was previously estimated to take a minimum of two weeks to evacuate Moscow in case of an attack, and that was under the assumption of complete cooperation.

"We must kill Straha, whatever else we do." Andrei sighed to himself. The official plan was to capture him and try Straha for crimes against humanity, along with many of the other shiplords. However, Andrei hoped that he would be killed, since the war was going on largely because of him.

On the bright side, he at least did not have any meetings to endure for the next few days. He was merely looking through paperwork, wishing once again that he was on the front lines, despite his physical weakness. Andrei had always hated political generals, and during the war, he had become one of them. Yes, he served the Soviet Union, but even with the risk, he would much rather be fighting the lizards than arguing with "allies" in Iceland.

"General, another rock has just slammed into Earth." His adjutant informed him. "It exploded over Alaska, and so far as we can tell, no casualties."

"For which God be thanked," Andrei muttered, even though he technically wasn't supposed to believe in God. His adjutant either didn't hear that or had the sense to pretend he didn't; most likely the latter. "Do we have any intelligence on more?" It wouldn't do them much good, but Andrei and his superiors wanted to at least look like they were making an effort to stop them.

"No, Comrade General." His adjutant replied and left the room.

Once he received the information, Andrei continued his job. His unofficial job as spying on the West had mostly come to an end. Not in so many words, but many on both sides were hoping that the Cold War would come to an end.

Another advantage of being a political general was that he heard tidbits of information that field commanders would not. Even though Andrei had only caught limited information, he had some knowledge about a treaty between the United States and the Soviet Union that would limit the number of strategic weapons in their stockpile. Such talks had been going on behind the scenes for years, but until now, little progress had been made.

The talks were intended to limit strategic warheads to 4,000, and over time, reduce their tactical warhead numbers as well. Not so coincidentally, that was roughly how many the Soviet Union had, perhaps a few hundred less. Andrei knew some of the hardliners in the Kremlin would be unhappy about this deal, the fact remained that the Soviet Union had to adapt if they wished to survive. Even before the war, it was becoming apparent that they were approaching complete bankruptcy and could not afford to maintain the massive size of the military. Studies had been conducted about how long it would take to replace the nuclear weapons that the Race had destroyed. None of them had been made public except to those of the highest rank, which Andrei found rather damning. Had they been able to replace them within a decade, or indeed at all, he would have received a copy of the report.

True, this would likely have been the case even without the Race, but their attempted conquest had massively accelerated the process. _I hope we do survive this, _Andrei worried with his ingrained pessimism. Even if he had some misgivings about certain leaders and policies, he still believed in the Soviet Union and in communism.

One lesson that they had learned was just how effective orbital supremacy could be. The Race was only slightly more advanced than the human powers on the ground, but now that they were over 2,000 kilometers above the surface, they were nearly untouchable. Evidently, Straha had been the only one to think of using it to their advantage; even by Russian standards, males of the Race lacked imagination. Their starships were completely unarmed and maneuvering asteroids to hit Earth was difficult at best; sometimes, they missed entirely.

Andrei thought of a different scenario: what if their starships had been armed with weapons and had been capable of bombing them from orbit where they had few opportunities to hit back? He could not immediately figure out what the exact consequences would be, but even from such a brief thought, concluded that it would have been disastrous. It would make the losses they had suffered thus far looked trivial by comparison.

Looking at it from that perspective, Earth had been extremely fortunate, but they could not depend on such carelessness happening again. They would need to have the capability to contest any aliens in orbit. However, the Outer Space Treaty prohibited any such weaponization.

"We may have to end that treaty," Andrei realized to himself. Had any of the diplomats on either side considered that scenario? It was quite possible that the Race would attempt to invade again, or failing that, simply try to destroy the human species. An even bigger nightmare was to face another alien species who was far more advanced than either the Race or the humans.

He debated with himself for several minutes, deciding whether or not to pass the information to the Politburo. Andrei was mostly sure at least somebody had thought of it; he might have been intelligent, but he was far from the only intelligent individual to serve the Soviet Union. Still... it was worth mentioning to the Politburo just in the unlikely event it had not occurred to anyone else. The threat was too big to take chances with.

Andrei dialed the phone that connected to the Politburo in Moscow, after making the standard checks for any bugs. "Hello?" A member of the Central Committee asked, although Andrei could not immediately remember his name. It took a few moments to realize that it was Andrei Gromyko."

"Yes, this is General Andrei Taktarov, comrade." Andrei responded. "I'm calling about the current negotiations for limiting our strategic stockpile."

"The details of the negotiations are classified, comrade." Gromyko reminded, sounding ready to hang up on him.

"I'm not asking about the details; I was inquiring as to whether or not any modifications to the Outer Space Treaty have been proposed." Andrei spoke his piece.

"We have not seen it necessary to do so; the current negotiations are sufficient for the time being." Gromyko snapped.

"Comrade... I believe we should be prepared to face this situation in the future." Andrei decided to tell him and endure the consequences later. This threat was too strong to ignore. "Even with the Race beaten back just about everywhere, they still have near-total orbital supremacy. We are helpless against their asteroid attacks and only their inexperience at orbital bombardment has kept the effects from being much greater. We were unable to hit them until they were almost on top of us, and it's quite possible that when the colonization fleet comes, we may have to fight another great battle."

"You may be interested to know that you are not the only one to express these kinds of concerns." Gromyko stated. Andrei could tell that any modifications were not being discussed, at least not right this moment.

"I know any agreement here will be difficult, but I believe the effort is worth making." Andrei tried to keep his voice calm. "The Race may not be the only alien species out there capable of interstellar travel. Their ships have no capability of hitting us from orbit save through the dubious prospects of aiming rocks in our direction, but we may not be so lucky in the future." He gave all the details of his concern, spending close to twenty minutes speaking.

Throughout Andrei's rant, Gromyko said not a word. He took so long to reply that he was beginning to think Gromyko had simply hung up on him. "With numerous generals warning of the same scenario, perhaps we can find ways to modify the treaty. Hitting them with thermonuclear bombs before they went into Low Earth Orbit might have made this war much easier." A good part of that was the unwillingness of the major human powers to use them unless necessary, but beyond a few hundred kilometers, their ICBMs and anti-satellite weapons could not reach the Race. "The General Secretary will make the final decision to add to these talks."

"Please convey to him the urgency of the request, Comrade." Andrei was not foolish enough to actually order him to do so.

"Perhaps," Gromyko responded and hung up. Andrei only hoped they listened. He began writing a memo to inquire whether or not the colonization fleet possessed weapons. Unlikely, but it was something that had to be prepared for.

XXXXXXXXXX

October 24, 1983:

"I thought this was supposed to be over soon." Melanie complained as they continued to march. Two months ago, their advance appeared to be unstoppable. The lizards in Ohio were thrown out entirely, as were the ones in Pennsylvania. Even in Indiana, only a few pockets remained and most considered them not worth the trouble of taking.

"Well, you can't claim the lizards don't have courage." Thomas responded, instinctively looking up at the sky. Ever since the nuclear detonations in captured airports, the lizards had lost air superiority. More and more American planes were seen, while fewer lizard aircraft went up to challenge them.

"Remember, this war may be in our favor now, but the lizards can still kill you if you fuck up, so watch your backs." Their platoon leader instructed them.

Most people thought the lizards had little left to fight with, and with the weather changing, few imagined that they would be able to launch such a large counteroffensive, but they did just that. The southwest portion of Colorado was retaken by the lizards, along with portions of New Mexico, Texas, and California. In the eastern part of the United States, the lizards were nearly finished, although significant portions of Kentucky and Tennessee still belonged to them.

In the southwest, however, they were still a force to be reckoned with. While not pleasant, the weather was more tolerable to them and until recently, there were fewer Allied soldiers to hold them back.

"Hope we catch them with their pants around their ankles," Katherine hoped, hauling an M47 Dragon anti-tank rocket instead of a rifle. They had relatively few tanks left and the Dragon was more than capable of destroying any lesser vehicle. "Fucking lizards; why can't they figure out they've been beaten?"

"They're being ordered to fight and as long as their superiors tell them to do it, they will." Thomas remarked. "Least that's my guess; hard to come up with any other explanation."

"Quiet down; we're reaching a place where the lizards still have a strong presence in the skies." The lieutenant ordered. Melanie didn't think casual conversation would do so, but did as she was ordered; there was no point taking changes.

The goal of their battalion and of others in their general vicinity was to outflank and cut off the lizard advance. Even now, they had a tendency to leave their flanks vulnerable and most of their remaining strength was at the spearhead of their advance. So Melanie devoutly hoped, at any rate. She had had enough fighting to last her half a dozen lifetimes.

"Feeling a little too exposed here," Mark whispered to himself. The ground they were walking on was almost completely flat. There were few trees, and the tall grass they encountered was insufficient to provide much camouflage.

The lizards might have been foolhardy to launch a counterattack under these conditions, but nobody could deny that it worked, at least to a limited degree. Their spearhead was close to Lubbock by now. From what she was able to piece together, they were holding on by their fingernails. The city was surrounded and being taken block by block.

"That ought to give us some cover," Thomas sighed with relief. The sun was going down. Most likely, within an hour, it would be completely dark. Melanie didn't see any need to respond.

"I expect that's part of the plan," Katherine reminded. When they were finally given the order to half for the time being, there were visible groans of relief all throughout the battalion, although all of them had learned to keep their guard up even through exhaustion.

To keep their minds off what was coming, the men and women around them shared cigarettes, rations, and dirty stories. Some of them were even new to Melanie, something she hadn't previously imagined. In the past, she would have screamed at something so disgusting, but now it hardly bothered her at all. Her own language had grown quite course, making her wonder if she would be fit for civilian life after this.

Soon after they sat down, runners passed the message that a lizard detachment was spotted about 10 miles southwest and they would be moving again in two hours. "Why didn't they just tell us that through the radio?" Melanie asked.

"Probably didn't want to risk the lizards intercepting it," Thomas explained.

The time ticked by slowly. Melanie couldn't even remember falling asleep, at least until someone was sending light kicks to her ribs to wake her up. "All right, all right," She mouthed, weakly pushing herself to her feet. Melanie felt through her backpack until she found her night vision goggles.

"Get your asses moving!" The lieutenant ordered.

"How far is this supposed to be again?" Katherine asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Ten miles," Mark yawned and stretched his back. Ten miles? Many of them could barely stand at the moment, much less walk that war.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Thomas sighed.

"You have a bad feeling about everything," Katherine pointed out.

"True, but I'm often right." Thomas responded.

Most of them had fallen asleep in their exhaustion, cursing as they woke, but after approximately fifteen minutes, their march began. Melanie simply focused on putting one feet in front of the other, trying to keep herself from collapsing. A few minutes in, she tripped over a rock and fell on her knees. She got back on her feet, brushing off her brother's concern.

They could hear bombs going off not too far from them. Along with everyone else, Melanie hoped it was their aircraft and artillery softening up the Race's positions.

"Masks on!" The radio screamed. Melanie hastily did so; gas was an excellent weapons against the lizards, but more than once, the changing wind patterns blew it onto the Allied lines as well.

"Do you have any antidote?" Mark asked. It was likely nerve gas and while a gas mask was better than nothing, there was a shortage of proper protective clothing. Supporting close to 13 million Americans in uniform was not an easy thing to do.

"No, and I wish I did." Thomas sighed. "Fuck!" Melanie's eyes widened, since her brother rarely used a word that severe, despite being a soldier for over year.

Worse luck, the lizards weren't asleep at the switch. Even in the darkness, muzzle flashes could be seen. Melanie hit the dirt, unable to get enough oxygen through the mask. _Hope they haven't managed to capture any of ours, _She worried. It hadn't happened to her so far, since they didn't seem to have the concept of chemical warfare, but with the lizards being desperate, they might try almost anything.

After ten minutes of bombardment, the order was given to advance once again. Melanie moved as quickly as she could, diving to the ground every half-minute; some were doing so even more frequently. Shells began to answer the American attack. Not as many as the Allies had, but a fair number. Here and there, screams could be heard in the dark, with medics running through the chaos trying to save whoever they could.

The American fired a series of shells, some chemical, some conventional explosives, then advanced a couple hundred meters. Even after close to an hour, neither side was anywhere near within range of infantry weapons.

"Aircraft!" Katherine screamed, pulling Thomas down to the ground. Melanie grabbed a trowel, trying to dig a foxhole for cover. Dirt went in every direction, but no matter how fast she moved, it wasn't going to be enough.

Nobody knew how many aircraft the lizards had, but they were releasing everything. Two tanks about a mile east exploded, as did four other vehicles close by. They had not come unprepared, however; surface-to-air missiles succeeded in bringing down at least one lizard aircraft, possibly more. Melanie wished she knew everything that was going on, but one thing she had rubbed into her face again and again was just how chaotic even a skirmish could be, let alone a strong counterattack.

"Least it wasn't their fucking helicopters," Katherine breathed a sigh of relief when the air raid was over. The lizard planes could drop a great deal of ordinance, but while less vulnerable than their helicopters, were also less deadly. The surviving vehicles continued to move and kept firing artillery.

"Might not have any left," Mark reminded. Melanie didn't care about the reason so long as she didn't have to face those monsters. Once they got within range, the surviving tanks began to open fire. Even with the night-vision goggles, their line of sight was quite limited.

"Hey, think I just saw one of their vehicles destroyed!" Thomas pointed, referring to a fire in the distance. Although miles away, due to the complete lack of light from other sources, it was seen quite clearly. The men and women who heard his claim gave a brief cheer and then continued to move.

No further air raids came, the one thing that might have forced them to delay their counterattack long enough for the lizards to fortify or at least retreat and regroup. "Halt!" The radio screamed.

"Have they lost their minds?" Katherine demanded. "We've got those goddamn lizards!" Over the past few minutes, few artillery shells or tank rounds came their way, raising morale of everyone around them.

"They're surrendering; take them prisoner and do not open fire!" The lieutenant ordered. "If you're dumbshit enough to kill them, you'll get a court-martial, if you're lucky. Is that clear?!" Everyone responded in the affirmative.

The lizards marched towards them with their hands up, throwing down their weapons where the army could see them. "Probably nervous we're going to cut them down on sight," Thomas admitted. Melanie had to admit the temptation, despite being warned of the consequences. She was far from the only one. They would have deserved for attacking her country and her family with no provocation.

Their surrender, however, came without problems. Many of them looked to be in poor health from the nerve gas. As incomplete as the Allies' protection was, the lizards were considerably worse. Many looked pathetically grateful to be given the opportunity to give up. "It's almost like they're expecting to be killed," Mark stated.

"Afraid we're going to take revenge; they should be!" Melanie snarled.

"Still, I think they've figured out they can't win." Mark smiled. "Didn't their leader order them to fight to the last man?"

"Well, the faster they give up, the sooner we can go home." Thomas stated. No one could help but agree with that.

XXXXXXXXXX

October 25, 1983:

_Liberation day! _Rafael thought jubilantly. Los Angeles had finally been relieved of its siege, after what seemed like several lifetimes of agony. At the moment, it didn't matter that they were still homeless, living in tents. It didn't matter that the war still wasn't over; they were free!

And with that freedom came food, more food that Rafael could have dreamed of. The Americans, British, Canadians, Australians, and even the Soviets were doing everything they could to keep them supplied now that the lizards were no more. Before everything happened, much of it was food he would have refused to even go near, much less consume; now it was the best thing he had ever tasted.

Once the Allied soldiers had finally retaken the city and saw what the lizards had done, some of the prisoners were massacred as a result; between 7,000 and 10,000 were killed. Rafael couldn't bring himself to care. Far as he was concerned, they had it coming.

Nena was groaning, clutching her stomach. Their parents cautioned her not to eat too quickly, but she had stubbornly refused to heed their words. Rafael only barely managed to do so himself.

"Well... happy birthday, son, even if it is a bit late." Edwardo responded with a smile.

"Hard to believe sometimes," Rafael was now fifteen years old, but it seemed like he had aged two decades in the past two years. His birthday was on the 11th, but he had completely overlooked it, and his family had done nothing to celebrate it. On the grand scale of things, it had appeared insignificant. "So what now?"

"We enjoy our freedom and try to find a new home; shouldn't be too difficult." His mother replied. For once, he heard genuine happiness in her voice, instead of trying to appear stronger in order not to frighten her children.

"It would be nice... not that I didn't enjoy living in a tent," Rafael chuckled. Some in the tent city found new homes within hours of Los Angeles' liberation. The reason sobered him somewhat: so many had died, from the nuclear strikes, to disease, crime, hunger that there would likely be many available places. He had heard nothing about the death toll; hell, he didn't even want to think about it, but it kept popping up in his mind.

"It won't be easy- never said it would be- but we will survive." Edwardo announced, taking a brief break from his meal. "Might even have a bit of a gut again."

"Daddy, you're not fat!" Bianca giggled. His father ruffled her hair and put his arm around her shoulder.

"So when are we going to get a new home?" Rafael asked. He was less than sure he even wanted to live in Los Angeles anymore. The smog, the crime... that he had gotten accustomed to over the course of his short life. What he had seen and endured at the lizards' hands, however, was something that would stay with him forever. His old city had far too many evil memories for him to ever truly feel like he was at home again.

"We're still searching and they're in the process of repairing all the damaged buildings." Edwardo informed. "In fact, I've managed to grab a job opportunity there." Everyone else protested in horror.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" Rafael screamed. His mother was so worried herself that she didn't punish him or cover his sisters' ears, even though they had heard the word many times before. He was too frightened to keep quiet, though. His mind was full of horrifying images of half-melted people, covered in burns, begging for death. He had only barely survived it, and his father was going back into it.

"Yes, I am; we need a home and we need an income." Edwardo snapped, daring his family to argue.

"I won't accept that; you can find a job somewhere else!" His mother snapped at him. Ordinarily, she let her husband take charge of things, but not now. "I would rather live in this tent for the rest of my life than see you walking into radiation! I don't care how much we need the money, how much they're offering you; you're not going!" Bianca and Nena ran out of the tent, their usual strategy for getting away from their arguing parents.

After a few moment's thought, Rafael left as well after getting one last piece of food. While he knew little about nuclear bombs, he did realize that they could be deadly even after they had been detonated. When he was in recovery, he heard doctors worrying about long-term effects, although no one had ever bothered to tell him any of the details.

Although they were small, his sisters were fast, and could run for what seemed like forever. Rafael struggled to keep up, not wanting to lose them in the crowd. Even if the fighting was over, the danger had not yet passed. He started panting, forcing himself to quicken his speed. Both of them were the family's risk takers.

Rafael had finally located them half a mile away, by which point he was gasping for breath. Even with the improved rations, his body had still not fully recovered. Bianca and Nena were simply sitting there, staring off into space. They had done their best to protect them from traumatizing events, but there were certain things you couldn't hide no matter how much you might have wanted to. Rafael sat down beside them, waiting to see if they would say anything.

Bianca started crying a few moments later; Nena soon followed. Rafael simply sat there, uncertain of what to do. He wanted to hug them, tell them everything would be fine, but both had them had always acted with anger when he tried doing so in the past. Cautiously, he put his arm around Nena's shoulder, saying. "We're going to be fine," He didn't believe that himself, but he had to say something to them.

"I don't want to be here anymore!" Bianca sobbed. "I want to live somewhere else, where daddy and mama won't die!"

"Come on, they're both tough; they'll be fine." Rafael tried to reassure. He would rather live somewhere, anywhere than Los Angeles, but if his parents were staying, there was little he could do about it. He said nothing else to them, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. They simply sat there, instead of angrily shrugging him off as they would have in the past.

"I'm sorry for crying." Bianca apologized, sniffing and wiping her eyes. "I'm just scared about Mama and Daddy."

"And I miss our Grandmas and Grandpas." Nena agreed. All their grandparents who stayed were now dead. The siege had taken its highest toll on the elderly. Most were unable to get the medical care they needed, and some had even sacrificed themselves to ensure their family members had enough to eat. After the nuclear detonation, care had prioritized among younger individuals who were considered to have a better chance of survival.

"It's ok; I'm worried too." Rafael replied. Despite his mom's arguments, he knew his dad would probably do it anyway. Being a hard-working man was a part of his identity and no matter the danger, he would stubbornly push through. His attitude had kept them off the streets more than once, but now it could cost him his life. "Let's go. Mom and Dad are probably getting worried about up."

He hoisted himself to his feet, waiting to see if his sisters would follow. With some reluctance, they did. Nena still had a few sniffles, but the twins had cheered up somewhat. All of them were worried, though: there was no doubt about it. Rafael had hoped that when the city was freed, their worries would finally be over, but no such luck.

Once they arrived back at their tent, his parent's arguments was still continuing. In fact, it did not seem that either of them even noticed their children's brief departure. "I'm going, that's final, and nothing you can say will change my mind!" Edwardo shouted, marching out of the tent in a huff. His mother looked to be on the verge of tears, but attempted and failed to act like nothing happened.

"Are you ok, Mom?" Rafael asked.

"I'm fine, sweetheart." His mother plastered an obviously fake smile on her face.

"It's ok, Mama." Bianca hugged her around her legs. Nena soon joined in. Upset as they were, they still wanted to try and make her feel better.

_Should have expected it, _Rafael thought, only barely keeping from tears himself. The fact he had larger tear ducts was the only circumstance holding it back. Even if he was mostly glad his father was still doing everything he could to look out for his family, Rafael hoped that he wouldn't end up getting killed for his stubbornness.

The initial joy of freedom was beginning to wear off. Sure, they weren't in danger of starvation from the lizards anymore, but they were still homeless. What were they going to do now? How were they going to support themselves? Even though he was aware of the danger, Rafael was thinking about getting a job himself. _I'm fifteen years old and old enough to get one, _Construction wouldn't take him, but there had to be something he could do.

That night, he heard scuffles within the tent city, although Rafael couldn't pinpoint where they came from. The fight ended with screams of agony and departing footsteps. With no other noise to drown it out, it was very audible even from a large distance.

Now that Los Angeles was free, it also meant that most of the soldiers were departing. That fact chilled him to the blood. He had seen homeless people around his whole life and witnessed how often they were mugged, beaten up, even killed. Rafael liked to think he was tough, but knew he didn't stand a chance in hell against a gangbanger or any sort of criminal.

He wished he could seal the entire tent up, but it didn't provide any safety at all. Rafael felt around in his pocket for a switchblade he had carried with him since the incident at the beach months ago. His mother would be horrified; his father knew, but both of them pretended that he didn't. _Never those I'd begin to miss those scaly bastards, _Rafael thought.

XXXXXXXXXX

October 27, 1983:

_I hope this contraption works, _Vladimir Yankov said privately. It was certainly an ambitious project, one that the Soviet Union had been attempting for over a decade.

Currently, they were somewhere in the northern half of Siberia; he had not gotten any further details. Vladimir and his companions had been boarded on a plane, forbidden to know or even ask where they were going. He had long since learned better than the question it.

They had arrived at what everyone declared was a grandiose piece of construction. Silos hundreds of feet deep and almost as wide. Vladimir almost believed that the location held their few remaining ICBMs before he saw the project for itself. It wasn't holding an ICBM; it was something far more dangerous than that.

Looking up, he couldn't help but marvel at the Space Shuttle the Soviet Union had constructed. These weren't rockets that would simply go up a few hundred kilometers and land a few days later; they were marvel, equivalent to the Apollo 11 mission fourteen years previous. Vladimir had trained as an cosmonaut in the Soviet Space program, and was fortunate to have survived the initial attack on their launching pad.

"I've always wanted to ride on one of these things," fellow Cosmonaut Georgi Rasputin remarked. Vladimir was nearing forty, while Rasputin looked almost childlike. On most days, he was dour and pessimistic even by Soviet standards, but now he was positively beaming. Unlike Vladimir, he had previously been in the Soviet Navy, not the Air Force, but had managed to secure himself a place on what was considered a top-secret and critical mission.

Vladimir moved to the right, observing the nuclear weapons placed onto the ship. Just on the eight, he had counted eight warheads and he had no doubt that there were likely at least twice that many. _I would like to see the lizards' response when they see this. _Unlike their ICBMs, this shuttle would be able to move beyond Low Earth Orbit to where the lizards were currently residing.

The final preparations were being made. Vladimir got into his suit, muttering to himself, making a mental list of everything he had to do. After the fourth time he looked everything over, he was mostly satisfied that everything was in order. He might have had an opportunity to strike a great blow against the lizards, but he couldn't help but feel slightly nervous. The lizards had far superior forces in orbit, even though the base was supposedly hundreds of kilometers away from the nearest aircraft.

_I knew the risk when I volunteered, _Vladimir gave a mental shrug. Rasputin was moving slightly slower. Vladimir had heard rumors that he only received his position because his father was a high-ranking party member. He had no evidence either way, but Vladimir dearly hoped that true or not, that he was competent enough to help make sure they came home alive.

The ladder was brought out and the five cosmonauts began their ascent. Vladimir moved slowly but steadily, ignoring the muttering of the people behind him. Heights made him nervous, an ironic fear for an experienced fighter pilot. He took a deep breath and climbed slightly faster, making sure to hold onto the rails firmly the entire time.

He secured himself inside, looking over the instruments. Boris Golov, Georgi Rasputin, Pavel Zykov, and Roman Mishin followed. Like himself, they were doing their best to hide how nervous they were. Vladimir checked his suit one last time just to be sure. _It'll be close to an hour before we're cleared, anyway. _He thought. The final checks had to be made, the launch pad had to be cleared, and communication needed to be confirmed.

"We'll be able to make the lizards suffer, as long as the devil's grandfather doesn't mess anything up." Mishin declared. He was in charge of deploying the weapons, all twenty warheads.

"This is base 451; please respond." The radio uttered, making sure the communications were working.

"We hear you, loud and clear." Rasputin responded.

"Affirmative; time to launch: fifteen minutes." The crew was informed. Already many of the personnel were rushing to a safe distance. Vladimir only hoped the base was large enough and resistant enough not to fall to pieces as they launched. Building above ground would have been easier, but they would have been much more visible, and it was critical that this mission succeed.

At five minutes to launch, the silo was completely sealed. Each second clicked by slowly. The five cosmonauts looked at one another, each of them knowing the risks involved in this mission.

Four minutes. Vladimir hoped that the six inches of steel would be enough to protect everyone else from the massive column of smoke and heat. The silo was three times the width of the rocket for precisely that reason. "I'm glad we don't have lizard planes to deal with, the way we would have in the past." Zykov remarked, fidgeting slightly.

Two minutes. Boris Golov ordered them to monitor the instruments. They would be in orbit for at least a couple of hours as they hunted down lizard starships. Boris clicked a couple of buttons, muttering to himself. From what Vladimir knew about him, he was a perfectionist to a far greater degree than was typical in the Soviet Union.

He had lost count of the countdown, for Zykov activating the engines took him by surprise. Even inside the rocket and his suit, the noise was nearly deafening. Vladimir felt a massive weight pressing against his chest. His body was completely immobile; he couldn't so much as move his fingers up and down. His eyes widened, hoping that everything would go smoothly, that the rocket would not blow to pieces. Their space program had many failures in its history.

Thus far, the launch had proceeded exactly as planned. The Proton-K would reach Low Earth Orbit within a minute. Vladimir's man concern now was lizard aircraft finding and shooting them down before they could reach their goal. The possibility was remote- the launch would have been canceled had any enemy aircraft been spotted- but it remained in the back of his mind nonetheless.

"How are you holding up?" Rasputin asked him, taking a deep breath.

"Tolerable," Vladimir responded. He was still unable to move more than a few inches, but breathing was slowly becoming easier.

"Best moment of my life," Zykov smiled. "I may die here, but at least I can say I went into space first."

_True, but the lizards must have accomplished this thousands of years ago? _Vladimir thought. A ship that could travel between the stars... that would be a truly grand accomplishment. Their space program had already seen a lot more interest and funding since they came, renewing the Space Race.

At 1,400 kilometers, they leveled off, traveling in Earth's orbit at approximately 8 kilometers per second. "No lizard ships detected yet." Boris announced. It was likely the ships would spread out throughout Earth, and unfortunately, altering the Proton-K's orbit to any great degree would be extremely difficult.

"Receiving authorization codes," Mishin mentioned, arming two of the warheads on the craft.

"Where are we?" Vladimir asked. From such a height, he could barely make out which continent was which.

"We're entering the Pacific Ocean." Rasputin mentioned. "Has anyone spotted any of their starships yet?" That would be worse than getting shot down. If they traveled through orbit and still had no opportunity to hit them, the mission would be an utter failure and meant the lizards would be wise to their attempts next time.

"Negative," Zykov stated. Hopefully, the other shuttles were having better luck. The Soviet Union launched 2, the United States 5, Britain one. All of them had different orbits, different launch pads. It was little more than rumor, but Vladimir did hear some wanted to wait until they had more.

Ten minutes later, their luck began to change. Two lizard starships had been spotted, moving at approximately the same speed. Mishin typed in the launch codes once again, and Rasputin began turning the shuttle to have a direct line of sight. The two ships were approximately sixty kilometers away, only barely visible with the naked eye.

"It's away!" Mishin cheered, launching the two missiles, each armed with 60-kiloton warheads. Even those were not enough to vaporize the ships, but they had been turned into little more than slag, killing all lizards that currently resided in them. A strong cry of jubilation came from all five cosmonauts. Even in death, the lizards would not have bought anything cheap.

"Do they have any defenses on those ships at all?" Zykov asked.

"No, they're little but unarmed transports." Boris responded. "Their planes can't reach us up here, and their starships have no weapons. We are a wolf among the deer!"

Throughout the next orbit, his words proved true. Three more starships were destroyed with the lizards unable to evade or deflect. Over the course of the human missions, while 3 of the shuttles were destroyed and their crews killed, twenty six Race starships were reduced to slag orbiting around Earth, with all their occupants killed.

XXXXXXXXXX

October 30, 1983:

Betvoss was cold. He was always cold now. Big Ugly clothing was in short supply now, as was everything else, and what little he was wearing happened to be insufficient to keep him comfortable in the harsh climate.

The counter-offensive had begun with such promise. At first when Males of the Race heard the orders, many of them were wondering if Straha was completely addled, included many of his supporters. However, the gamble initially appeared to have worked. Donetsk was successfully held and the Big Uglies were driven back. It reminded him vaguely of the first days of the invasion, where the Race seemingly swept all before them, even if they were taking heavy casualties in the process.

Most of the Tosevite prisoners they took had been killed, as speed was considered essential and grabbing and detaining Prisoners of War was considered a waste of time. Too bad for them, of course, but as they were only Big Uglies, it didn't matter that much to the Race. A few questioned the rightness of that, but only to themselves.

Their offensive began to stymie twenty days ago. Too many landcruisers were destroyed, there were few killercraft left, and the Race ran out of fuel for what vehicles still remained intact. With their starships in orbit, they had no ability to reproduce more, and a large raid conducted by the Big Uglies destroyed most of their remaining supplies.

Once the Race was weakened, the USSR launched another offensive even more devastating than their first. Some Males, braver than others (or perhaps addled by ginger) volunteered to hold them back, allowing the rest of them to escape and regroup.

Plans rarely went well when fighting against the Big Uglies; that had been a rule since day one of the invasion. This time, however, it was an utter disaster. The Russians simply bypassed the choke points they could, wiped out the ones too strong to ignore, and attacked the Race with all their strength. With their tanks outnumbered nearly ten to one, there was little the Race could do.

Betvoss sighed to himself. _What's the point of continuing? _He asked himself. This war was utterly lost. He no longer heard even the overly optimistic broadcasts coming from the video feeds; all of them had gone utterly silent. He had heard nothing about how the war was going since arriving in Donetsk. Where was he now? Some alien forest that he knew nothing about, like everyone else in his unit.

"Superior sir, what are we going to do now?" Betvoss asked.

"We follow our orders and fight on," Votal sounded more weary than Betvoss had ever seen him. Just two days ago, they had been forced to retreat twenty Tlocks to the West (40 kilometers) because the Russians outflanked them and attempted to cut them off. Far too many males were not so fortunate and were completely encircled. The Infantry Leader had seen the trap coming, but with so little equipment, foresight had made little difference.

"For what?" Utriel snarled. He was forced to use a Big Ugly tool, making digging for cover slow and cumbersome. The mud made it even less pleasant than the task would have been otherwise. "Why are we even bothering to fight! This war is over!"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Votal warned him. "And be grateful that I didn't." While Betvoss believed his superior likely felt the same way as the rest of his squad, he felt duty-bound to follow Straha's orders, no matter how suicidal they might have been.

"It shall be done, superior sir." Nesser practically spat the word. It was slow, but the foxhole was finally finished, and the four of them huddled as close together as they could. It made them a bigger target and in fact other males had died in just those circumstances, but sharing body heat was one of the few ways they had left to stay warm.

Tosevite aircraft launched another raid in conjunction with their artillery. The Race answered back as best they could, but with so few guns left, it made no appreciable difference. A few enemy aircraft were destroyed, their pilots killed, but it made little dent in their war machine.

Betvoss huddled tightly in his hole, trying to think about something else other than the cold and the probability that he would die on an alien world in a losing cause. Fortunately, the artillery drowned out his words so none of his comrades heard him utter them. He wasn't sure if they had an infinite amount of ammunition, but they certainly behaved that way.

He covered his ears to drown out the shelling, praying to the Spirits of Emperors past that he would live through the bombardment. Part of him, however, thought it would be best if it was simply over. If Betvoss died, he would be with the Spirits of Emperors Past, at peace and healing from everything he had endured on Tosev 3.

"They're making another advance; be ready." Votal ordered.

"It shall be done, superior sir." Betvoss sighed. They wouldn't make just a frontal advance. The Russians were going to encircle their forces and destroy them. Why couldn't any of his superiors see that? Perhaps they didn't see it. Perhaps there was simply nothing they could do about it.

_Why are we even bothering to fight this war, then? _Betvoss screamed to himself. The Big Uglies had transitioned to a wartime economy and it was quite evident that nothing the Race could do would even put a dent in that. He had felt a brief glimmer of hope when asteroids began to be used against the enemy, but it had quickly died.

"The enemy is attacking!" The radio warned. "Repeat, the enemy is attacking, possibly in three directions! Orders are to attempt a counterattack!"

Betvoss had heard a lot of foolish orders, but that was one of the dumbest he had heard since he arrived on this miserable iceball of a planet. Attack an enemy with far more men and far more equipment than they currently possessed? What could that possibly accomplish except to get more males of the Race killed?

"Have they gone completely addled?" Nesser demanded furiously. "Are they trying to get us killed?!" He did not move at all from their hole. With artillery shells continuing to rain down on them, advancing would be little more than suicide.

"These orders came from Fleetlord Straha himself." Votal informed them. That stopped their protests, but only for a brief period of time. "He wants us to counterattack and retake the Ukraine portion of the USSR." He sounded deeply unhappy about these words and clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction.

"We can't; we're barely staying alive!" Betvoss snarled. "Are we advancing anywhere on this planet, anywhere at all?" If they were, the news feeds would have mentioned it, no matter how insignificant it might have been as a whole.

"I'm not going to let that addled fleetlord get us all killed!" Utriel bellowed, throwing his rifle away. "The only reason we're fighting is for his own personal glory!"

"Do you dare speak of... mutiny?" Even mentioning the word was an enormous effort for Votal. He stared at his subordinate in astonishment, sheer disbelief keeping him from threatening him with discipline. Surrendering when ordered to fight to the death was bad enough, but outright refusing to participate in an attack the Fleetlord ordered? His mind could barely comprehend such a thing.

Betvoss marveled at the stand Utriel had taken. His mind debated on whether or not to follow him. Like most males, he knew the war was lost. No attack was going to change it, even if Emperors past personally intervened to allow them a victory. His grip on his weapon began to loosen, even though he did not throw it away as Utriel had. He had only four clips for his weapon and no way of getting more.

Nor were they the only males who hesitated to go forward. A few did so, but most were cut down by Russian artillery before they could even hurt the enemy. If possible, the shelling had actually amplified and Big Ugly aircraft were making another appearance.

"I can't do this anymore," Betvoss muttered, dropping his weapon and collapsing into the mud. He curled up into a ball and refused to move.

"Neither can I; what's the point in throwing our lives away?" Nesser responded, throwing his weapon aside. He had no bullets for it anyway.

"You are Males of the Race; have you forgotten that fact?" Votal screamed at them. What could he do to males who were refusing to go forward? Communication with any of his superiors was dubious at best and he had the sinking feeling that they were not the only one refusing, so he was the male at the scene. Whatever happened next was entirely up to his discretion.

"With respect, superior sir, I haven't felt like a male of the Race for a long time." Betvoss muttered, trying to hide himself from the world. "I don't think I ever will be again."

"Truth," Utriel and Nesser agreed.

Votal considered simply shooting them for disobeying orders. There had never been any rules for this during a conquest, simply because no member of the Race ever thought it was possible. His superiors would likely clear him for punishing such a horrible deed of misconduct... assuming any of them would be left alive before long. "I could shoot you, you know." Votal threatened, trying to sound more menacing than he actually felt.

"Go ahead; it'd be a mercy after everything." Betvoss replied indifferently. Death no longer scared him. In fact, he saw it more as a release, not a punishment. Utriel and Nesser looked nearly as impassive at the threat.

In the end, however, Votal could not bring himself to execute them. They were in fact right about how the war would end, even if he could not go so far as to refuse to fight. Even he was hesitant, having so little left to fight with.

However, there was no longer time to make any such decisions. The Big Uglies located them and screamed something at them in their language. Votal hurriedly dropped his weapon, hoping they wouldn't decide to simply shoot them down where they stood. It wouldn't be the first time they had done so. The other three pushed themselves to their feet.

Now that death looked imminent, Betvoss began to become frightened. Not so much as he would have been in the past, but the fear still resided within him. "March!" One of the Big Ugly soldiers ordered, presumably the one in charge. Numbly, he and his comrades followed, not wanting to give them any excuse to shoot.

XXXXXXXXXX

Well, after this, I only have two more chapters and the epilogue to write. After that, Worldwar: Clash of Empires will be complete!


	22. Chapter 22

November 21, 1983:

"It's good to finally be home!" Alexis declared, although he was more mumbling to himself than anything else. It was almost beyond belief that he was allowed to finally return home and check on his family.

On the other hand, the war was winding down. Most of France was freed over a short period of time. Although Generals had warned of high casualties and stiff resistance, those fears had failed to materialize. Some fought even harder than intelligence had expected, but there were many more who gave in with little resistance.

_We'll be free soon, _Alexis thought. France had suffered enormously for that freedom, perhaps even more than the United States had, but at the moment, it seemed worth it for victory. There was a long period where it seemed like they would spend the rest of their days controlled by lizards from beyond the stars.

As a whole, Lyon hadn't suffered too badly, certainly not as badly as he had originally feared. There was certainly rubble around, but compared to some of the places that Alexis had seen fought over, it was barely even worth noticing. The city was alive, if not thriving. For a few moments, he began to feel right at home.

A small part of him wished he was back there, fighting alongside his buddies. The war was not completely over, despite what pundits in the media were claiming. The lizards were on their last legs, but they had not yet been completely beaten. Another 3-6 months, and the war would be over. It would be the greatest war since World War II. It reminded Alexis a great deal of it, except for the far lower death toll among civilians.

Another asteroid, the largest yet, had slammed into the Earth, reminding everyone that there was still a war going on. Fortunately, it had slammed into southern Algeria, where there were few people living. Had a 150 megaton impact hit a populated area... Alexis didn't even want to imagine the devastation.

"Now to find out if my family's still alive..." Alexis muttered. His superiors decided that he needed some leave, and based on the way things were going, the war would end before he went back on duty. He didn't want to think of what would happen if they were dead. Just thinking about it made him want to hunt down and kill every lizard on the planet. Agnes, Josette, his parents... he had missed them dearly. He had taken them for granted once, but not any longer.

He allowed his feet to drag him alone and soon he found himself at his old home. It was small and always felt crowded once he had left Lyon. Previously, he had not noticed it, any more than a fish noticed water. _Just knock, you coward! _Alexis demanded of himself. His knocks were so quiet that Alexis could barely hear them. _Or perhaps I'm going deaf. _It wasn't uncommon among combat veterans. Even with protection, they couldn't block out everything.

The door opened a few seconds later, startling him. His mother was on the other side. "It's good to see you, son." She smiled, hugging him tightly. "You look just as handsome as ever."

"So do you, Mother." Alexis patted her back and let go, allowing her to escort him inside. In fact, the left side of her face had been badly scarred, but he wasn't about to remark on that. If she wanted to tell the story, Alexis would let her. If not, he would respect her privacy. "How is everyone?"

"Well... I suppose you're going to find out eventually." She responded. Alexis felt a pit of dread in his stomach. What happened?

"Your sister Josette... she was hit by a shell four months ago." His mother sighed sadly, lowering her head to the floor. "We were on our way home from a restaurant and... a shell landed in the wrong place." A single tear rolled from her cheek.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?!" Alexis demanded. They had no right to keep this from him, none! He had gotten their last letter six weeks and no one so much as hinted at it. He deserved to know the truth! "I had a right to know!"

"We didn't want to put you under pressure when you were already under stress." His mother responded, but it sounded like a feeble explanation at best, at least from Alexis' viewpoint.

"How could this have happened?" Alexis snapped. "She was only seventeen years old!" He had always expected that if anyone died, it would be him. He had signed on with the military knowing the risk involved. _I'd trade places with her if I could. _He admitted. Alexis had signed up for it; she hadn't. She was the brightest in the family, had a wonderful future ahead of her...

He sat down on the sofa as he tried to process the news. Finally, he managed to speak again. "What about Agnes and Father?" One tragedy was bad enough; Alexis wasn't sure they could handle two.

"They're fine," His mother promised. "They're waiting for you in the other room. We decided that I would be the one to give you the news."

"I'm... I'm sorry for snapping at you." Alexis apologized with a sigh. Rubbing his temples, he eventually continued. "I just... I just wish you'd have told me earlier. I was hoping coming home would be happier occasion." Josette... life had a certain sense of irony. Agnes had always been the risk taker. More than one, Alexis thought that one day, they'd hear she was dead in a car wreck, or some brainless stunt she and her friends used to conduct. Even though Agnes was two years older than Alexis, she often acted younger.

Agnes and his father walked into the room, both with somber faces. His normally restrained father hugged him tightly, looking to be on the edge of tears. "You're right, we should have told you earlier." He admitted to his son. "If it makes any difference, I was the one who suggested it. I know how stressful and terrifying combat can be, and I didn't wish to add an extra burden on you."

Alexis held back what he was going to say at the last second. His father's words sounded reasonable; although he had never actually seen combat, his father was in Algeria during their War of Independence and lived in constant fear the whole time. The trouble was that he wasn't feeling very reasonable right now. He had been in countless battles for the past year and a half, and an enormous amount of fury had bottled inside him.

"What gave you the right to decide that for me?" Alexis' voice lowered dangerously. "I'm not a child, and I've dealt with more this past year than any of you have in your lives! Did you really think I was so fragile that the news would break me?" He forced himself to hold the tears in, not wanting to break down in front of everyone.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," was his father's feeble explanation.

"Have you forgotten what the rest of us have gone through?" Agnes snapped. "You're not the only one who's suffered over the past year!" Unlike his parents, his older sister was responding to Alexis' anger in kind. She counted off her fingers. "We've been invaded, we've been bombed, we've lived in fear that our home would be destroyed by a nuclear bomb, and every single day, I feared that I would get a letter that stated my only brother was dead! None of us need your 'poor little me' routine!"

Alexis saw red for a few moments. He had spent what seemed like a lifetime in combat, witnessed more horrors than his family members could possibly imagine, and she believed his behavior was nothing but self-pity. Sensing disaster, his mother intervened and separated the two. "Agnes, leave him alone. Alexis, go to your room; you need some time alone."

He was about to sneer at her for ordering him around like he was still a child, only to find that his unconscious mind still obeyed her. Once Alexis was done, he buried his face in his hands, crying silently. He had hoped for a happy family reunion; letters weren't the same as seeing his loved ones in person. Instead, it had simply become a nightmare.

He looked around at his childhood possessions; his room had been all but untouched since he had left years ago. Alexis opened his old journal, trying to reminisce about a time when he was happier. As he looked through the journal entries, however, the person inside sounded just as alien as the lizards who had invaded his beloved country. He sounded foolish, naive... and happy.

Alexis threw it on the ground, not wanting to read any more of it. His childhood home might as well have been a stranger's for all the connection he had to it now. He wasn't the same person he was then, the kind yet arrogant young boy who was convinced that nothing could ever happen to him. He pitied and envied his past self at the same time.

A small knock at the door made him jump off his bed, roll off the floor, and start reaching for his pistol before Alexis remembered he was out of danger, at least immediate danger. Those reflexes had saved his life many times, and it wasn't easy to go back to civilian life. He took several deep breaths and forced himself to release his grip on his weapon. "Come in," Alexis said, though it sounded like a whisper to him; his hearing wasn't what it had been.

Both of his parents walked inside. Alexis sighed; he was hoping for an apology from his sister, but knew he should have known better. She was enormously stubborn when she thought she was right; that he had similar characteristics never crossed his mind. "What do you want?" Alexis replied sharply, not really in the mind for company.

"I just wanted to apologize once more." His mother responded, looking to be on the verge of tears. "Both of us were just trying to spare you more pain. You had a right to know as well, but we had good intentions."

" 'The road to hell is paved with good intentions'." Alexis quoted, not wanting to listen to hear it. "If you're going to apologize, do it, but I don't want to listen to any excuses. I've seen enough death over the past eighteen months that one more isn't going to break me." He tried to speak dispassionately to avoid breaking down again and only partially succeeded.

"We're sorry," His father replied simply.

"Ok, thank you." Alexis nodded. He was still angry with him for keeping him in the dark, but that was beginning to fade as time passed. "So am I. It's... a bit of an adjustment being off the front lines." He told himself over and over that he was out of danger, yet he was unable to truly make himself believe it. His body still behaved the same way.

"But you're safe now; it's over." His father told him. He understood somewhat better than his mother, but he had not seen the kind of fighting Alexis had. "Just remember you're not the only one who's been through a lot; the whole country has."

"I know, I know," Alexis snapped again, nearly pushing past them. _You're acting like a child; stop it. _He told himself. "It's easy for me to forget. Did... did Josette have a proper funeral?"

"We couldn't afford a funeral, not right now, so we decided for cremation." His mother informed him. "Otherwise, she would simply have been buried in a mass... mass grave." Her words became little but blubbering after that. Alexis hugged her tightly, trying to be strong for the rest of his family, but a single tear went down his face as well.

Agnes grabbed her brother's hand and hugged him as well. She always had a volcanic temper, but it never lasted for long. She showed him his sister's ashes. after warning Alexis not to drop them. _So this is all that's left of her? _Alexis thought, scrutinizing the jar from every angle. He would rather have had her buried. Having her jar on a mantelpiece would simply remind him of his loss every time he walked by.

He let go of the rest of his family, handed the jar back to Agnes and sat down on the chair, still as a statue. Alexis had hoped all of this would be over once he was no longer fighting, but he had been cruelly disillusioned. _What do I do now? _He asked himself. He half expected to die fighting the lizards, but he hadn't, and now wasn't sure what to do with himself.

"Grieve and go on as best I can," Alexis mouthed. "What else is there to do?" But the words sounded completely hollow to him.

XXXXXXXXXX

November 23, 1983:

Betvoss had no idea where he was now. _Am I going to live through this? _He asked himself at least a couple dozen times a day. Back when he was fighting, it didn't bother him that much. Now that he was no longer in imminent danger, the idea of dying frightened him more. He prayed to the emperors both to protect him and if he died, to accept his spirit in the afterlife.

"Where are we?" Utriel asked for what seemed the hundredth time. Betvoss was tempted to simply slap him, but he didn't have the energy. None of them had been fed for close to two days. For over a year-tenth, they were simply held in a large field encircled by barbed wire. Considering how eager some of the guards looked to kill them, no one thought of attempting escape.

Even if they did, they couldn't go anywhere. With the war effort collapsing, a rescue mission was impossible and prisoner exchanges were ended close to a year ago. Best to stay put, even with the miserable conditions. The only positive thing was that they were given enough clothing to give them protection against Tosev 3's weather.

However, just before Tosev's sun began to peak over the horizon, they were forced in a Big Ugly train. While not as ugly as Betvoss originally thought, it was still no match for the smooth ride a male of the Race could expected anywhere in the empire. They were packed in over 120 to a car, barely giving them enough room to turn around, much less move in any significant way.

"Stay strong; we are Males of the Race and we cannot forget that." One of them spoke. Betvoss didn't know his name. He was nothing but a clerk before, but now his unofficial job seemed to be from getting everyone inside from panicking and giving the Russians the excuse to kill them that some were looking for. "No matter what happens, the Spirits of Emperors Past will guide us." All lowered their eyes at the mention of the emperor.

Betvoss stood open-mouthed as he noticed that a few, perhaps a dozen, had not even done that much. Had they been so broken that even the Emperor could not lift their morale? It would have been considered heresy on Home and any male who did so (never anything in the news, but you did hear rumors) would have been shunned by all neighbors and friends. Here, he did nothing more than make the negative hand gesture in unhappiness.

He took a step and his toes touched fecal matter from one of the other males. With no toilet, most were forced to simply go where they stood. Had they been Big Uglies, the train car would have been far more disgusting. Betvoss sighed again; it wasn't like he hadn't done the same more than once.

"Did you hear about an incident that happened in France?" Nesser asked in a whisper to his comrades. "Two bases actually mutinied and killed their superiors!"

"Those are lies just intended to demoralize us." Votal insisted, perhaps trying to believe it himself. Those interested in such horrifying subjects had to look far in the past, long before Home was unified, to find incidents of Race males actually killing their superior. On Tosev 3... Betvoss' first thought was that it was nothing more than a rumor. He wasn't completely sure, however, and wished that he could be.

"Are they going to kill us?" One of them asked anxiously.

"If they were going to kill us, they would have done it already, you addled fool!" Another snapped irritability. Lack of food and water (though they required much less water than Tosevites) combined with their fear was making them all edgy. "We can kill their prisoners if they dare try!"

"Do we even have any at this point?" Another voice in the packed crowd inquired.

"That's defeatist talk." A former tank commander reminded, not that very many males cared at this point.

"They didn't capture us because we're winning!" Utriel reminded him. Betvoss almost didn't mind. He would have rather heard all the exaggerations on the video feeds. At least then, it would mean they were still in the fight. Were any Race forces still fighting anywhere? Or had they all been beaten by now? Betvoss thought he knew the answer and wished he didn't.

Their captors were bragging about victories over them all around the world, claiming that San Diego, Paris, and Minsk had been retaken. Betvoss had never heard of those places. Even after all the fighting and traveling he had done all around the world, his familiarity with Tosevite geography was minimal. He would like to think that they were simply lying to lower their morale, but he was pretty sure they were telling the truth, or at least not exaggerating by very much.

His stomach began to growl again. Betvoss was the only one who heard it, being that it had become too common an occurrence to notice it from other males. "What do you think they'll do to us?" Betvoss asked again. He tried to think about other, more pleasant events, like what Home had been like before he went into cold sleep, but that failed. Even if he survived this and saw Home again, he would never truly be able to hit in.

"We'll find out sooner or later." Votal sighed. "They can't kill us; we can exact revenge on their prisoners." Betvoss doubted that, but it seemed to make some of the other males feel, if not better, at least determined to survive.

The train eventually ground to a stop, and the doors opened. Many males, including Betvoss, covered their eyes at the bright light. Utriel blinked rapidly, trying to gather his wits.

While they were attempting to accustom themselves to the light once again, the Tosevites were pulling them out of the truck, screaming at them to keep moving. None of them even thought to disobey. Even with their visual senses impaired, most of them could see guns and from their imperfect understanding of Tosevite body language, looked more than willing to use them.

Once all the males were pulled out of the car, they moved to the next one. Two of them, likely ginger tasters, charged towards the Tosevites and were shot dead, a warning for everyone else about what would happen to them if they disobeyed. "Just keep quiet and give them no reason to shoot you." Votal ordered.

"Like they need a reason," Nesser muttered, lowering his head. Males of the Race mulled around, each of them hoping they would be fed while waiting to be told what they were supposed to do. Betvoss heard how well prisoners were treated depended a great deal on which not-empire they were captured in.

Eventually, food and water was given out. The Race were forced to line up in order to receive their meager portions. With the prospect of food so close, Betvoss' stomach growled louder than ever. A few males attempted to cut in line before they were caught by the guards, beaten, and sent to the back. Afterwards, none of them even thought about trying to fight.

He couldn't help but feel jealous of Nesser, who was near the front of the line, while had at least sixteen males ahead of him, all just as hungry and thirsty as he was. Each second dragged on for an eternity, with his legs barely able to hold him up. He had been standing for what was likely days and only his tailstump kept him from collapsing to the ground.

Finally, it was his turn to start eating. Ignoring any dignity, Betvoss gulped down all the food that was offered him in a matter of moments. It was poor quality, something he would have turned his snout up on at Home, but now it was the best thing he had ever tasted in his life.

Once he ate, Betvoss began to feel more like himself again. Things did not look so hopeless, so bleak. His stomach was still hurting, but was not tearing at him the way it had before.

They were marched into one of the many cities on Tosev 3. Betvoss could not pinpoint it any more than that. Each city was different, had its own layout, own Big Uglies... it was enough to drive a male mad. It had obviously been fought over. Few buildings that he could see were intact and about one in five had collapsed entirely.

One of the Tosevites, whom Betvoss presumed to be the one in charge, was screaming at him. His arms gestured to the damaged and ruined buildings as he paced back in forth. A few males tried to back away in case he started shooting, not that it would do them much good if he did.

"I think he wants us to rebuild everything." Nesser informed the others. He was capable of understanding a few words of the language, unlike many. "He's saying that... since we caused this, we have to be the ones to rebuild everything."

"How are we supposed to repair all that?" Utriel snapped. Already the Tosevites were bringing around tools, including barrows that were almost as tall as a male.

"I don't think they care, but at least they aren't shooting us." Votal tried to look on the positive side. They raised their guns and for a brief moment, Betvoss thought that they were about to be shot after all. Then they backed up several steps and gestured for them to grab the tools.

"I can barely hold onto this thing," Betvoss complained about the hammer. A guard heard him and slapped him across the face. The blow had not dealt a great deal of pain, but it promised much worse to come if he refused to obey. Reluctantly, Betvoss began to assist in repairing the Tosevite city, all fight gone from him.

XXXXXXXXXX

November 26, 1983:

Rance Auerbach knew that he should be in a celebratory mood. After all, the war was nearly over, with a few determined enemy divisions still holding out, but even they were grasping that resistance was futile. Only their suicidal obedience to orders kept them from giving in.

The lizards had been completely cleared from the eastern portion of the United States. All who had served there were either killed or captured (with a few massacred as they were trying to surrender; the fighting in the East had been extremely bitter) San Diego, Las Vegas, and Santa Fe had been retaken within hours of each other. Casualties were far from light, but lower than many commanders had feared.

_All they have left is Arizona and New Mexico, where the weather works to their advantage. _Auerbach thought. _So why am I not more cheerful? _Plans were even in motion to liberate Mexico from their occupiers. They had fallen within a month, but determined resistance fighters had made the lizard's control over their country tenuous at best.

Unfortunately, victory had come at a massive price. He had just arrived in Washington D.C. from Cincinnati and even though he was a decorated veteran of World War II, the sheer scale of the devastation had astonished him. The city had changed hands four times; taken by the lizards, retaken by the Allied counterattack last December, seized again by the lizards when the weather changed, and finally held for good by the United States three months ago. From the photos he had seen, the city looked like something out of Stalingrad, not the United States of America.

Much of the country had gotten off relatively lightly, save for the huge numbers of young men who had been drafted, wounded, and killed. "Ten percent... so goddamn many..." The number of men of military age who had died in the war was about one in ten, a scale that was only surpassed by the Confederacy during the Civil War.

What he was grateful for was that the war had ended when it did. His twin grandsons were seventeen and had the fight continued for a few months longer, they would have been drafted into the Army. Auerbach was prepared to pull strings to keep them out of danger, however unhappy they would have been about it. His family had a proud military tradition and he remembered that at such a young age, he had considered himself invincible as well.

The aliens had been beaten, but the United States had paid a high price. The final toll would never be fully known, but the best estimates were that between five and six million people died over the past year and a half, about twenty percent of them civilians. That number did not even include the estimated thirty million people who were homeless and needed humanitarian aid.

_Should have launched everything we had before they had a chance to land, _Auerbach thought. He had recommended that they redirect their ICBMs towards the alien fleet and blow them to pieces. Auerbach was far from alone in believing as much, at least when the lizards were proven to be hostile. Holding back before they attacked might have made some sense, but once they did, hitting them as hard as they could might have saved millions of American lives.

"Not a mistake we'll make again," Auerbach promised. They had about twenty years before the colonization fleet arrived, and if they made any effort to attack, orders were to blast them out of the sky. Twenty million lizards was bad enough, but they were not about to let 100 million of them land on Earth. True, they were civilians and that was enough to give many pause, but his nation had suffered too much to allow the lizards a second chance to conquer them.

Outside his office, he could hear the march. In Ohio, it was decided to show the lizard prisoners firsthand what they had done to them. Ohio had been utterly devastated, to a far greater degree than any other state in the country. Around half the nuclear exchange between the two sides had occurred there and in addition to the constant fighting, close to two million people in that state had perished.

However tempted he was to go out there and force them to march through the ruins, Auerbach refrained. He still had to work on plans for the post-war world and- however little he cared to admit it- seeing the devastation always brought tears to his eyes.

Rebuilding would obviously be the first step, but what else? How could they prevent anything like this from happening again? After what the United States had suffered, even if they disagreed on the details, everyone agreed that they should never be caught in such a vulnerable position again.

_Step 1: missile defense. _Auerbach thought. If they were unable to shoot at least some of their weapons down, it was likely that millions more would have died. If the lizards hit New York or other major cities, the cost would have been enormous. The SDI defense had been politically controversial and others argued that it was either impractical or could trigger a war, but there was little objection now, not when the public saw how necessary it was to protect themselves against nuclear bombs.

_Step 2: orbital defense. _Some of the science fiction writers the government used as advisers warned that orbital superiority was crucial to both attack and defense. Fortunately, the lizards had never made proper use of it until the end and even then, it was largely ineffective. The asteroids that did hit, however, still caused some damage, especially the one that slammed into southern Algeria. Unlike the others, that one was big enough to have some global effects.

A knock on his door interrupted him. "Come in," He shouted. Auerbach immediately saluted when he saw that the man who entered the room was his superior; a four-star general. In fact, he was the Deputy Chief of Staff, known to many of his subordinates as "Mad Max".

"At ease, Auerbach." He snapped, getting right to business.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Auerbach asked as the deputy sat down.

"You've seen the reports; how long do you think the lizards will continue to fight?" He asked.

"I think... I believe they will give in by the end of the year." Auerbach responded honestly. Had he not believed that, he would have found some way to soften the blow.

"Good, but to be honest, the Race is the least of our problems right now." He replied succinctly. "We've got to start planning for what comes next. I've come to let you know that Ohio will be under Martial Law for the indefinite future. Plenty of people won't like it, but screw them. We've got problems in the refugee camps like you wouldn't believe. Robbery, assault, rape... it goes on and on."

"Understandable, sir." Auerbach informed. He had half a dozen looters shot just in the past twenty-four hours, hoping it would deter others. So far, it hadn't. "I'll keep order here for as long as you need me."

"I've had no complaints about how you've handled your job." Max informed him, making Auerbach stand up a little straighter. "But with what comes afterwards... off the record, I'm not sure that the president is making the right decision."

"What do you mean, sir?" General or not, it didn't mean Auerbach knew everything about what was going on.

"If I recall, you were one of the commanders who advocated a large-scale nuclear strike on their ships before they made landfall." Max stated. "Had we done so, we might have saved millions of lives... or the lizards would have hit us harder before our national missile defense was prepared for them, killing millions more. Historians will probably spend the next century or so debating just that."

"Permission to speak, sir?" Auerbach asked. When his superior nodded, he went on. "What exactly is this about? What are you trying to say? You might be right, but that's for historians to decide, not us."

"The president's making a big mistake and we need to persuade him as much." The Deputy Chief of Staff informed Auerbach. "Not entirely his fault, of course. Most naturally hope for a peaceful world after such an event, and there are rumors that his mind is beginning to fade."

_Out with it! _Auerbach screamed mentally, but he knew he couldn't say that to a superior officer. Finally, the Deputy Chief came to what he had to say. "The president seems to think we can reconcile with the Soviet Union and our other enemies, that this war will lead to some kind of new world where we revel in our shared humanity. That could not be farther from the case. The Soviet Union is still our enemy."

"It does seem kind of naive, yes." Auerbach cautiously admitted. "However, Gorbachev does seem to be a more moderate leader and for the first time, there is real hope that the Cold War may really be over. I've lost count how many sleepless nights I've had fearing a nuclear war."

"Communism is still a threat, General, and we need to be prepared for it; we nearly let our guard down thirty-eight years ago and we can't afford to make any such mistake again." the Deputy Chief stated. "They still control Eastern Europe, they still possess a couple thousand strategic warheads, and we know for a fact that they've gotten their hands onto some of the lizards' technology."

"Sir, with all due respect, even if they wanted to, I don't think the Soviets are going to be in any position to do anything." Auerbach decided to give his honest opinion. "We may have lost more in terms of lives, but the Soviet economy's in ruins. I believe we may have overestimated how strong their economy really was." The United States wasn't in great shape either, being close to 4 trillion dollars in debt.

"All the more reason we need to continue pushing them." His superior argued. "They may be playing nice now, but how long is that going to last, in truth? We need to be ready, and now we have an opportunity to end communism for good. I need you to send a report to the president recommending we only partially draw down our forces and continue to pressure the Soviet Union."

"I'll get started on it immediately, sir." Auerbach promised, which was the only thing he could say. Arguing any further would have gotten him punished; he'd worked too hard to move up the ranks to be marginalized now.

"I want it done within two weeks, General." He ordered and walked out of the room. Auerbach rubbed his temples in frustration. He personally had mixed feelings about what the president was attempting to do. Ending the Cold War and hopefully bringing an era of peace sounded like a goal to reach for, but was it really possible.

In Eastern Europe, there were rebellions, including some armed ones. All of them were demanding independence from the Soviets now that they looked too weak to hold onto them; even the Baltic States were restless. The Middle East was in utter chaos, not that it was a model of stability even in the best of times. China was making moves towards both the Senkakus and the disputed territory with India, now having a more modernized and battle-hardened military.

_Has the fact we're not alone in the galaxy changed anything? _Auerbach wondered as he began to type. _Anything at all? _

XXXXXXXXXX

November 27, 1983:

_So it's come down to this, _Ttomalss thought after listening to the latest Tosevite demand for surrender. Their demands were completely unreasonable: surrender of all weapons, leaving all ships in orbit, and handing the leaders of the Conquest Fleet to try them for what they called: "Crimes Against Humanity."

"On the other hand, what choice do we have?" Ttomalass thought. They had very little left to fight with and if the information he received was anything near accurate, many males of the Race were surrendering the instant the natives got within firing range of them. Oh, some were still fighting on, either because they would never disobey orders or because they thought that Straha would use a new weapon to terrify them into surrender.

There was a personal message from Straha, demanding that he find some kind of psychological weakness to defeat the Tosevites. Ttomalss pretended he had not received it, burying it in bureaucratic procedure. His subordinates thought as he did and threw the message away. Not that it would help, in the long run, but it meant he would not have to listen to that delusional maniac make unreasonable demands on him.

A video came on in his quarters, speaking about another asteroid that had been slammed into the planet, larger than any of the others (135 meter S-type asteroid). Again, however, it had not hit a major Tosevite city, smashing into what they considered a desert on the northern half of the third continental mass, what they referred to as Africa.

While a clever idea, asteroid bombing was very difficult. Many did not hit Tosev 3 at all, proving extremely difficult to aim. The Tosevites were also concentrated into relatively small areas; not nearly as concentrated as the Race, but on most of the planet, tosevites were thin on the ground. It bought them a little extra time, but had made little difference in the end.

"What do we do?" Ttomalss scratched his shoulder with his fingerclaws. Straha was not about to give in, the way Atvar was. Many of the shiplords were discontented by his command (Not to mention scared for their scales with the tosevite demand to turn them in for trial) While he heard furious mutterings, there was no serious attempt to remove Straha from power. He was extremely bold and radical for their species and it looked like no other was willing to take the same step he had.

Nevertheless, that might be a necessary step to take. Another eight starships had been turned into slag and the Race had no explosive-metal bombs left to use. Even from higher orbit, the enemy still found ways of hitting them, even if a few of their crews died in the process. Two shuttles were shot down on reentry, but they had more and were likely building more.

A knock on the door interrupted him. Ttomalss let out a hissing sigh. It was most likely Straha, demanding again that he find a way to triumph against the Tosevites. He braced himself as best he could and got up to answer it. _Maybe ginger can help me get through this. _Ttomalss had never tasted, but in such times, it was becoming a tempting thing to do in order to endure incompetent superiors.

Instead, it was Atvar. His body paint was now a mixture of yellow and green, something a male in disgrace was forced to wear. He looked decades older since he was overthrown. For a few moments, Ttomalss was at a loss as to what to say?"

"May I come in, Senior Researcher?" Atvar asked.

"Of course, Ex... Atvar." He had no formal title, so Ttomalss simply called him by his knife. Instead of beginning a conversation, however, Atvar scanned the room with his eye turrets and placed a small device on his desk. Once two bars extended from it, the former fleetlord sat down and spoke.

"Ok, now I think we can speak freely." Atvar stated. "The technicians who built this assured me that this can neutralize any bugs planted in a room."

"What is this about?" Ttomalss asked, although he had a pretty good idea. He could think of only one reason the fleetlord- no, former fleetlord- wanted to speak with him.

"Straha," Atvar explained simply. "He has become completely addled and beyond reason. He is stubbornly continuing to fight even though victory is no longer possible. I realized that it would have been better to co-exist with the Big Uglies, however unfamiliar it might have been to the Race. Few of our males are still fighting, yet he still seems to think he can win."

"Truth; I have been pestered with numerous demands." Ttomalss admitted, hoping that jamming device Atvar brought with him worked. Considered how addled Straha had become, the room was almost certainly bugged. "What is it?"

"We need to overthrow Straha, and we need to do it quickly." Atvar sighed, his fingerclaws brushing against his leg. "I was hoping this wouldn't be necessary and that he would see sense, but evidently, I was too optimistic."

"You understand... this would be a difficult undertaking?" Ttomalss responded with considerable understatement. "Straha will not come quietly."

"Yes, he will not relinquish power willingly." Atvar admitted. "Nor will he give up the conquest, no matter how many lives are lost in the process. I admit, there was a brief period of time where I thought he would succeed where I had failed." However much he hated going down in history as a fleetlord who was replaced for incompetence, Atvar still hoped for victory because it would benefit the Race as a whole.

"I did that; the Tosevites are far too warlike for us to truly subdue." Ttomalss made the negative hand gesture. "Even if we did manage to beat them, the war would continue. Although we have not been able to spare the resources to study them as thoroughly as I would like, the captured books we have translated tells us much about their capacity for warfare."

"We can't beat them, and we can't destroy them." Atvar sighed again. "However alien it is to us, we must find a way to co-exist. The longer Straha stays in power, the more minuscule our chances become. What would stop them from destroying the colonization fleet when it arrives?"

"Have you discussed this with anyone else?" Ttomalss inquired.

Atvar made the uncertain hand gesture. "I have had a few... discreet conversations with shiplords who are unhappy about how the war is going. They believe as I do, but lack the imitative to openly oppose him. In addition, coming from me, such questions look suspicious. More than one have asked me if I am simply doing this for my legacy."

"Have you spoken with Kirel?" Ttomalss had wondered that himself. Even if true, Atvar's point could not be denied. He had a vision of hundreds of defenseless colonization ships being blown to pieces by vengeful Tosevites who did not even know their surroundings.

"Not yet; I plan to shortly, but I do not know yet who can be trusted." Atvar warned. "This war has changed us, turned us into something resembling the Big Uglies rather than the Race. Nonetheless, this must be done."

"You realize of course that if we surrender, we will be helpless to stop whatever they decide to do to us." Ttomalss. "They have been known to attempt exterminations of groups they found inferior in their recent past." The Race had no equivalent word for "Genocide". "They demand that we turn in all our weapons and leave our ships in their orbit. Truth... not all not-empires are the same, however."

"If we continue fighting, it will be the same result, with fewer Big Uglies inclined to mercy." Atvar warned. He did admit to himself, though, that at the present time, the Race had no good choices. It played a factor in keeping Straha in power, however disillusioned the shiplords had become.

"We have no good choices here, and a miscalculation could doom us all." Ttomalss warned. However unhappy he was with Straha, he was hesitant to actively participate in getting rid of him. "I am only a researcher. What do you think I can do to influence the shiplords?"

"You can give them your analysis that conquering the Big Uglies is futile, and we need to co-exist with them, at least for the time being." Atvar stated. "I assume you have sent it to some already?"

Ttomalss made the negative hand gesture. He had repeatedly sent them to the fleetlord, with Straha often screaming in rage because of them, but it had never occurred to him to go around him. While common among Tosevites, these games were much more rare among the Race. "Perhaps I can do so, but which ones can be trusted?"

"I'll give you some names to stay away from." Atvar warned, handing him a datapad. "This contains the names of shiplords who are still supporting Straha in spite of everything."

"The first one I will send it to is Kirel.' Ttomalss announced. "Surely he would see the logic in it."

"Kirel is a logical, capable male; even Straha saw as much." Atvar made the affirmative hand gesture. "However... I am unsure as to whether he has the imitative to depose Straha." He stopped momentarily, not wanting to put his former second-in-command down, but knew that he had to go on. "He will always obey orders, even if he privately questions them. Kirel is a conservative male, but... he is one of the few who can act against Straha and have a chance of success. If Kirel refuses to join us, or worse, informs Straha of the plan, this endeavor will be an utter failure."

_I can't believe it's come to this! _Ttomalss moaned to himself. To him, despite how much sense it made, sounded a lot like treason. "What will Straha do if he discovers this? Keep in mind that I have not yet agreed to support you."

"I shudder to think," Atvar admitted. "He is a Big Ugly trapped in a body of a Male of the Race. In some not-empires, such actions would be punishable by death. While I hope he has not fallen so far, we must be prepared for every possibility. Numerous commanders have been removed for nothing more than questioning their suicidal orders."

"Even with the risk... I think someone should talk to Kirel." Ttomalss decided. "He may refuse at first, but we need to convince him. How... how many of our forces are still fighting?"

"Fifteen percent, perhaps even less than that." Atvar groaned. "If I knew that by becoming fleetlord, I could end up deciding the fate of the Race... but that doesn't matter right now. I have been chosen by the emperor, and I must make the decision I think best." He lowered his eyes, hesitating once again. "Even if we remove Straha, and assuming the Big Uglies don't simply destroy us all... we must be ready for another great battle."

"What do you mean by that?" Ttomalss asked, confused. Once they surrendered, the fighting would be over... right?

"Think of how fast the Big Uglies have advanced their technology." Atvar pointed out. "1680 years ago, their deadliest weapons were swords and spears, similar to what the Rabotevs and Haliessi had when we conquered them. Now their military technology is almost as advanced as ours, and has improved even in the short span of time since we arrived."

"What would it take to conquer them?" Ttomalss asked. "Do you mean that we are going to make a second attempt? I estimate we would need 3, perhaps 4 times as many soldiers for the conquest fleet in order to succeed, in addition to a much greater stockpile of explosive-metal bombs."

"No, spirits of Emperors willing, we will not have to waste our time on Tosev 3 again." Both males lowered their eyes for a few moments. "What I mean is that their military will be more advanced than ours in a couple of decades. Since we have proven that such travel is possible... they may decide to come to our world and attempt to destroy us."

"By the emperor!" Ttomalss bellowed so loudly that he feared everyone in the ship heard his voice. He only prayed that no one loyal to Straha would catch on to them. "Then perhaps... we should destroy them now."

"We don't have the capability to do so now." Atvar warned. "We would have to build another fleet with as many weapons as they could hold. In that time, the Big Uglies would likely be advanced enough to arrive on Home, assuming they do not destroy themselves in the process."

"You've just given Straha his best argument." Ttomalss decided to mention. "One of the reasons many still support him is for precisely the reason you gave."

"We cannot win; that much is clear." Atvar repeated. "While there are plenty of Big Uglies inclined to vengeance, some would be more willing to show mercy. They even stated that they greeted us in peace before we attacked. If they had attacked the moment we arrived in their planet's orbit, they could have inflicted great damage upon us. Will you support my efforts?"

Ttomalss was conflicted. This went against everything the Race stood for, but... Straha was so addled that he might destroy the Race entirely in his zeal for conquest. Many moments passed before he finally responded. "I... I will help you in any capacity I can." He spoke reluctantly.

"Thank you," Atvar opened his mouth. Pushing himself to his feet, he left the room, prompting Ttomalss to wonder just what he had gotten himself into.

XXXXXXXXXX

I'm very sorry this took so long. Frankly, I'm not all that skilled at writing endings, but I've only got one chapter left and I'll be done, except for the epilogue, of course. Thank you to everyone who tuned in and enjoyed my work.


	23. Chapter 23

December 17, 1983:

Atvar took a deep breath and prepared himself. His opportunity was currently limited and he knew that he had to make the most of it.

Legally, he was allowed in the shiplord's meetings, much to Straha's dismay. However, he only rarely attended because it had reminded him of his disgrace, being the only Fleetlord in the history of the Race to be removed for incompetence. _Think of your duty, _He told himself, making himself take the last few steps to enter the chamber.

Surprisingly, when he arrived, there were surprisingly few eye turrets in his direction. Most of the shiplords were focusing on Straha, who was currently ranting and raving about the latest disaster that Race forces had suffered at Tosevite hands. "We will beat them, I promise you!" Straha snarled. His usual well-maintained body paint was now little more than a mess and considered how his mind seemed to be going, he was obviously becoming increasingly disconnected with reality. "I intend to launch a series of counterattacks on these fronts where the Big Uglies are weakest! As soon as another asteroid sufficient for our needs becomes available, it will be used to kill every Big Ugly in the area, allowing us to regain the imitative."

Most of the shiplords looked at least somewhat skeptical of Straha's claim. Kirel looked as if he was only barely hiding his contempt, though outwardly, was as respectful to authority as he would have been before they departed for Tosev 3. None of them seemed inclined to criticize him openly, however. Questioning superiors was a rare trait among the Race, and it was likely that Straha would have been the only one of them with the inclination to replace the fleetlord.

"What forces do we have left, S... Exalted Fleetlord?" Atvar forced his tone to remain courteous, though he'd like nothing more than to tear Straha's belly open with his fingerclaws.

"More than enough to accomplish my plan," Straha looked to be holding himself together through chains of denial. The battle was lost, but the current fleetlord behaved as if their military was still intact, even though over a quarter of their starships had been destroyed. "Now I estimate this will take two year-tenths to fully implement..."

"Exalted Fleetlord... what exactly do we have left to fight with?" Kirel asked, managing to keep all scorn out of his voice, a trait that Atvar envied. The map of Tosev 3 was no longer present, which was an indication in itself as to how things were progressing. "The Big Uglies have a massive number of males in uniform which is growing by the day."

"Their economy is breaking, and they cannot keep this up for much longer." Straha responded, avoiding the question. "We will win; we are the Race! It is our right!"

"A more specific number would be appreciated, Exalted Fleetlord." Atvar pointed out, feeling like he wanted to vomit all over the room. When it became apparent that Straha would not answer, he stood up and gave the other shiplords the information Kirel had discretely provided. "We currently have three million remaining, out of a conquest fleet of twenty million. Out of those, perhaps half are currently in fighting condition. Only a handful of killercraft remain, our landcruisers are becoming little more than target practice, and we control so little of the planet that even if the war ended now, it would not be enough for our colonists."

There were many gasps throughout the room. Almost everyone knew the war was going badly, but considerably fewer realized the kind of dire straits they were in. The Race were rather arrogant and believed victory was ordained for them simply because they were the superior species. Now they were beginning to realize how false this really was.

Straha bared his teeth and raised his fingerclaws, looking to be on the verge of attacking his former superior. "Lies! All lies! We have millions upon millions of males ready to fight and die to take this planet! We will kill the Big Uglies, every last man, woman, and child if that is what it takes to conquer Tosev 3!"

Atvar decided to let him ramble on; Straha was doing more damage to himself than he could ever have managed. Kirel discretely turned on the hologram of Tosev 3 while his rival was distracted, allowing the shiplords to see their desperate situation. Only tiny portions of the northern half of the lesser continental mass were still held; even a lesser power on the surface was liberating itself.

About the only region that was fully controlled by the Race was the central part of the main continental mass, only because some of the Big Uglies were more interested in fighting against one another. The Indian subcontinent was being retaken, China and Russia were fully free of invaders, and over half of Europe had fallen to the Tosevites.

Kirel and Atvar allowed the others to fully gauge the hologram for themselves while Straha was being ranting to himself about how victory was imminent. Atvar saw horror and fear, with a sizeable minority beginning to hiss at Straha furiously. "Exalted Fleetlord... how are we supposed to beat the Tosevites now?" A junior shiplord asked, looking terrified at questioning Straha, and was visibly trembling as he did so.

"By bombing them into submission and seeing them beg for mercy!" Straha bellowed, pacing around the room. "As soon as we can muster up a counterattack..."

"It's local winter in the northern hemisphere; I am unsure as to whether or not our troops can still attack in such weather." Another asked. Atvar forced his mouth to remain closed; this was going better than he could possibly have hoped for.

"Exalted Fleetlord, even if the planet's beastly weather allows us to attack, we are badly outnumbered and outgunned." Kirel all but pleaded with him to see reason. "Our localized attempts have been easily crushed, and many males are surrendering to the Tosevites rather than fight on."

"Traitors, all of them!" Straha snapped. "Traitors to the Race, Traitors to the Emperor! They dare disobey the orders I gave them?" He seemed almost unaware that he was in front of a rather large audience.

"Even if it means being with the Spirits of Emperors Past, many males of the Race fear death." Kirel spoke cautiously, attempting to see if there was any sense left in Straha's brain. Atvar doubted it, but an effort had to be made. "Our localized counterattacks have done nothing, and the Tosevites are only getting stronger. Would it not be better if... we negotiate with them instead?"

"Give into their demands?! Never!" Straha exclaimed, darting towards Atvar. "You put them up to this, didn't you, Atvar? You're lying to them, trying to undermine the war effort in order to humiliate me!"

"No, Straha, it is your foolishness that cost us everything." Atvar snapped, no longer able to control his anger. "When I ended the conquest, it would have been possible to negotiate, to receive territory for our colonists that the Tosevites consider unsuitable for themselves. However strange it may have been to co-exist with an undefeated species, it would have been vastly preferable to our situation now. Instead, they are demanding complete and utter surrender." Mentioning as much was risky, Atvar knew; yet the time for caution was past.

"I will never surrender to an inferior species!" Straha spat, shoving Atvar out of his chair and onto the ground. "We are the Race! We do not surrender to anyone! Suggesting we give up is treason to the Emperor, but no, you don't care about that, do you, Atvar? You've always tried to humiliate me; you've never been able to stand that I am a superior being, a superior fleetlord, a superior tactician, and a superior servant to the Emperor!"

The other shiplords were too shocked by Straha's actions to do anything but sit there. Not one moved to assist Atvar, though judging by the uneasy stirrings, at least a few wanted to speak up. "Straha, have you become completely addled?" Kirel demanded. "Unhand him, unhand him at once!"

"Oh, no, he's not going anywhere!" Straha responded, dragging Atvar by his tailstump. Atvar struggled to free himself, but Straha was surprisingly strong and his fingerclaws were beginning to draw blood.

"Unhand me now!" Atvar growled, kicking his rival in the stomach and finally managing to get to his feet. "You have proven once and for all that you are unfit for command!"

"I knew it; I knew that's what you were here for!" Straha snarled. "Do you really think I'm going to allow you to regain your old position, bringing the Race to defeat?"

"I will call the vote." Atvar stated, moving away from the fleetlord. "You have proven, time and time again, to be incapable of reason. Millions of males are dead for no other reason than that your ego demands that we continue to wage a war we cannot win!"

"You would have us surrender?" One of the neutral shiplords inquired. He was no fan of either Atvar or Straha, but the idea of surrendering to another species was completely alien to their consciousness.

"Do you see any realistic way for us to triumph?" Kirel asked, ignoring Straha's howl of outrage. "I've shown you what's left of our males, and the fact that many of you have already lost comrades in orbit should be further evidence."

"We will not surrender to inferiors, not while I am fleetlord!" Straha proclaimed.

"Then perhaps you should be replaced, Straha." Atvar glared. It might have been for the good of the Race, but he couldn't help but feel a certain amount of satisfaction bringing Straha down. He had just proven that no, he could not have done a better job attempting the conquest of Tosev 3, and had, indeed, led them into a complete disaster.

"Shall we make the motion private or public?" One of the shiplords asked. Now that the proposal had been made, some of the shiplords looked more receptive to Atvar and Kirel's proposal, however alien it was. Still, he did not know what the outcome of the vote would ultimately be. If they failed... Atvar considered the possibility that Straha might have him... assassinated. Considering the Big Uglies' barbarism had infected the Race, he thought it a probability.

"Make it private, so no one will fear retribution." Atvar eventually decided. He awaited anxiously for the results.

The rest of the shiplords voted electronically, while Straha looked absolutely mutinous. However, it appeared as if he had finally developed enough sense not to start screaming abuse at his detractors again.

"The votes who ask for his removal are..." Kirel began. Atvar groaned; what was the answer? The future of the Race would depend on what happened next! "The votes come to... eighty-eight percent favoring the Shiplord's removal, while twelve percent favor his retention. Straha, you have been officially sacked from your position."

"Lies, all of it!" Straha screamed, charging towards Kirel. "You rigged the votes, I know it!" His fingerclaws began to dig into Kirel's neck, forcing his second in command to kick him across the shins in order to free himself. Kirel shoved his elbow into Straha's gut, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to the floor.

"What do we do now?" One of the shiplords asked. "Who leads us?"

"So long as there are no objections, I will take the former fleetlord's place." Kirel informed the others, waiting to see if they would call for any other candidates to be put forward. While many were unhappy with Kirel, they had no reasonable alternative. Straha was a lost cause and they were not about to reinstate Atvar. It mattered little whom they chose, in any case. They would not be under their own authority for much longer.

"Exalted Fleetlord, may I speak with you in private?" Atvar asked. Although still strange, it didn't hurt him mentally to refer to Kirel that way as it did Straha.

"Of course; if you would follow me, Atvar..." Kirel gestured his arm towards the door. Once he was sure they would not be overheard, Kirel asked: "What is this about?"

"I admit... I still have a few worries about surrendering to the Tosevites myself, even though it was an action I advocated." Atvar admitted. "If they mistreat us, even kill us all, there will be little we can do to defend ourselves. And there is the colonization fleet to consider."

"Atvar, they have the power to kill us now." Kirel reminded. "We received the latest demand for surrender just this morning. I was about to accept it because like you, I do not believe there is any other option. Yes, many of them are savages, not civilized males, yet if they truly wanted to, I believe they could wipe us out. Our starships are badly vulnerable to their explosive-metal bombs."

"I know, at least I know that logically, but this still goes against everything we have been taught since Home was unified under the Emperor." Atvar lowered his eyes turrets briefly.

"I'll send a message to the not-empires, declaring our unconditional surrender." Kirel still shuddered at the thought. He typed a brief note, knowing that the Tosevites understood at least some of their language. "Now we merely wait for them to respond."

"I hope it doesn't take too long." Atvar sighed. "I will inform the other shiplords; let me know if and when the Tosevites respond." It occurred to him that Kirel should have been the one giving the orders to him, but old habits were hard to break.

"They have been demanding our surrender for some time; I do not believe it will be long." Kirel made the affirmative hand gesture.

Once Atvar arrived back into the main room, he saw that Straha had been restrained and gagged, although his screams of rage were still quite audible. He gave the news of the Race's surrender and even though it was seen as unavoidable, many of the shiplords nevertheless hissed in fury. "What will they do to us now?" One of them asked with fear in his voice. Atvar only wished that he had an answer for him.

_Whatever it is, it won't be good; we will be completely in their power. _Atvar thought. He hoped to have them surrender to the "western" countries; they at least did not seem to brutalize their prisoners, at least not to the extent of the others. _Emperor forgive me... we have failed in your task. Let us hope we have not doomed our entire Race. _

No one spoke, but the question of what would happen to them was on everyone's minds. The Race was the most superior species in the galaxy, and even though they were militarily crushed, most still considered the Tosevites to be their inferiors. _Why? _Atvar wondered. _Why were they inferior? _At this point, the only thing he could come up with was "Because they're not us", which appeared to be rather flimsy evidence.

About a day-tenth later, Kirel skittered into the room and announced: "The Big Uglies have accepted our surrender. Every male of the Race aboard our fleet is to leave orbit and land on the planet's surface, where we will be escorted by Big Ugly soldiers. They also made clear in the sternest possible tone that any attempt to resist will be met with execution. We have been... ordered to be the first to land."

Even though most males of the Race were still on the planet, it would take at least a quarter of a year to fully evacuate the fleet. Their starships were simply ordered to continue floating in orbit. _Meaning they could attempt to reverse-engineer them. _Atvar worried. He did not concern himself with the Big Uglies using them to fly to Home; the starships did not have the fuel and would have to gather hydrogen on Tosev 5 and Tosev 6 to have enough to return home.

"Let us start entering the shuttlecraft," Atvar sighed, deciding to get this humiliation over with. Only 25 would fit in the shuttlecraft, and the Race only possessed a couple hundred of them. In the end, they shoved 30 inside, although it was deeply uncomfortable for everyone. Straha was dragged in kicking and screaming, his rant about traitors audible even through his gag.

Their pilot exited the ship and flew in the orbit of Tosev 3, descending as quickly as it was considered safe to do so. Atvar was in no hurry. The shuttlecraft began to shake as the shiplords were pinned against their seats. No matter how safe its engineering was, the descent still made many of the passengers nervous.

Tosevite killercraft moved in to escort it as it made the final descent. Atvar knew that they could easily blast them out of the sky if the Race made any aggressive moves towards them. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

Finally, mercifully, the shuttlecraft landed. "Open the door slowly; we want to give the Big Uglies no reason to be afraid of us." Kirel ordered. Two of the moderate-ranking shiplords opened the door, nearly closing their eye turrets in anticipation of getting shot down.

Greeting them was at least five times their number in soldiers, all of them standing single file in two rows. Walking down the middle were a trio of Tosevites, whom Atvar surmised were the ones in charge of the area. Now that the door was open, he felt cold, colder than he had ever felt in his life. He only hoped that they would be able to get inside before they froze to death.

"Welcome to Canada, Fleetlord." One of them spoke their language with a heavy accent but understandably. "You will follow us; any resistance will be met with deadly force."

"It shall be done," Kirel made the posture of respect, eager to get out of the cold. If they were left out there, they would end up freezing to death within a day-twenty. The shiplords moved as quickly as their captors would allow them too. Unlike Tosevites, their shivers provided them little protection from the cold; they were not evolved for it.

Fortunately for them, this had occurred to the tosevites as well as the male Atvar presumed was in charge yelled at his subordinates to give them coats and blankets. They were too big and bulky for the Race, but they managed to make the temperature almost tolerable.

The building they entered was guarded by at least a hundred Tosevites so tall that Atvar believed that they were specifically chosen for their height. Straha was muttering curses, and would have run for it if there was even a slight chance of survival. However, he realized that there wasn't and stayed put.

The senior shiplords were led inside a building, while the more junior ones waited outside, shivering despite their heavy coats. _Why did we ever think this planet was worth colonizing, anyway? _Atvar thought. Even excluding the Tosevites, a good part of the planet was just too cold.

In the center of the room, a quartet of senior military leaders were sitting patiently, along with what seemed to Atvar innumerable cameras. _Of course they want to make this humiliation public, _He sighed. They wanted to prove, at least to themselves, that the Tosevites were superior. Despite being beaten militarily, the Race would never admit that.

"Sign here, Shiplord." One of them told Atvar, giving him a pen. Technically, he was fleetlord again, but his body paint had not been changed.

"Never! I will not give in to a bunch of Big Uglies!" Straha snarled, but even he was beginning to see how futile this was. Kirel kicked him to shut him up, making him howl. Unless he was badly mistaken, Atvar saw amusement on a considerable number of their faces.

The pen was clumsy, but eventually, he managed to write down his name and title, formally surrender to the powers of Tosev 3. "On behalf of Earth, we accept the surrender of the Race." One of them spoke, a Soviet representative based on his uniform.

"Now what?" Atvar asked.

"This isn't over just yet." The British representative spoke up. Atvar hissed in fury; he knew he should have known that this was not going to be so simple. Instead, he pointed to Straha. "Straha... you are formally placed under arrest for crimes against humanity."

"I did nothing wrong!" Straha pointed out. He even believed it, not that it would do any good. Half a dozen guards surrounded him on all sides.

"You'll find most of us disagree with you about that." The British man remarked as he was dragged away, kicking and screaming.

"What happens to us now?" Kirel asked.

"You will be interned and you will assist us with the reconstruction efforts." The Indian representative declared. "We will find homes for you, and you will be under guard until your colonization fleet arrives. After that... we have plenty of time to decide."

_Well... it's not the worst fate he could have come up with for us. _Atvar was half-expecting the Tosevites to simply wipe them out, the Conquest and Colonization fleets both. There was little the Race could do to prevent it at this point. However... perhaps not all of them were brutal monsters after all.

XXXXXXXXXX

December 20, 1983:

"Am I the only one still feeling nervous?" Melanie asked as the latest group of lizards threw up their hands and dropped their weapons. She was sorely tempted to gun them down right there and then and based on the looks of her fellow soldiers, she was far from the only one.

"Nope, but for once, I'm glad these creatures always follow orders." Her brother responded. "Could have been fighting these bastards for another decade, having them hide in the deserts and striking us whenever they have the opportunity." That might have been somewhat of an exaggeration, but no one would deny that the lizards fought hard, often to the death when they were ordered to do so.

_Where are we, anyway? _She'd marched for so long that she'd forgotten. The area looked to be desert, so somewhere in the American Southwest, but she was so exhausted, Melanie was unable to place it any more precisely than that. Geography was never one of her skills, in any case.

Even though the siblings were so exhausted that they could barely stand up, they continued to follow orders. The Race had officially surrendered forty-eight hours ago, but there were still concerns that some fanatics would continue to fight and inflict more casualties. Melanie wasn't too worried about it: after the losses they had taken in the past eighteen months, what did a few thousand more matter in the long run?

"Unless you're one of them," Melanie whispered to herself, rubbing her eyes in what seemed a futile gesture to keep herself awake. If the Race would try anything, now would be the time.

"They truly look beaten, don't they?" Thomas responded, a small smile on his face. He gave himself a hard slap in order not to collapse onto the ground. Most of the prisoners simply marched, looking at the Allied soldiers with what Melanie was certain was fear. "What are we going to do with them now?"

"Not nearly enough," Melanie snarled, but there wasn't as much hate in her voice as she anticipated. Which was surprising, considering that Katherine had been killed less than a week ago, at the very end of the war. The war may have ended, but she had been changed forever. Her parents, her home, her oldest friend... all gone.

"I've been speaking to some of them," Thomas announced. "Apparently they actually sent a probe to Earth in... well, sometime in the 12th century; I forget the exact date."

"That long?" Melanie gasped in astonishment. If they had shown up in the Middle Ages, the fight would have been over in days. "Then why did they wait so long?"

"Apparently they expected us to advance slowly, just the way they do." Thomas admitted. "Sure gave them a big surprise. I know it's common in science fiction that humans advance faster than everyone else, but it might actually be true. They told me that any noticeable technology change within a lifetime is considered too fast."

"How did they build a functioning society at all, then?" Melanie didn't really care, but decided to indulge her brother. "They should still be using rocks or something. And... since when did you learn their language?"

"I don't speak it very well; some of the lizards have learned somewhat fluent English, even though they've still got a heavy accent." Thomas replied, wiping his forehead. Even though it wasn't very hot, they still had a long march ahead of them. He took a deep breath and a drink from his canteen.

"You think we'll ever be able to pay a visit to them?" Melanie couldn't resist a little happiness at the thought. She wasn't sure if she wanted to see their homeworld for exploration or part of a fleet that would wipe out every city they had. Killing soldiers was one thing, but billions of civilians, even aliens, did not come easy for her.

"Not in our lifetime," Thomas shrugged. "Keep your hands where I can see them or I'll blow your heads off!" He suddenly shouted. The nearby lizards looked back at him nervously and skittered closer together. Every once in a while, they were threatened just in case any of them wanted to fight back.

"How much farther is it?" One of the men complained. He looked close to fifty and in Melanie's opinion, too old for being a grunt, but no one was willing to turn down volunteers back when the invasion looked like it might succeed.

_I wish I knew, _Melanie thought. She'd lost count of just how far and how long they'd been marching. Before the war, this kind of thing would have killed her, especially with a fifty pound backpack in addition to her weapon. As it was, her feet and ankles were in a lot of pain. Biting her lip to keep from crying out, she forced herself to keep moving, though she was slowing down ever so slightly.

They were traveling by moonlight once they finally arrived at the camp. It was better built than many throughout the northern hemisphere, though Melanie was still enormously pleased to be looking at it from the outside. It was still only half-constructed, with the previous lizard prisoners building it themselves, using tools not suited for their biology.

"Superior sir... what is to happen to us?" One of the lizards asked her. Having already been briefed of the lizards' difficulty in telling humans apart from one another, including many that could not tell the two genders apart, she did not deign to correct him.

"I don't know; that's out of my hands." Melanie shrugged, actually feeling a minuscule amount of sympathy for it. It was smaller than the average ten-year-old and obviously quite terrified. "You'll be fed, and given shelter; that's all I can promise you."

"We're Americans; we don't mistreat our prisoners." Thomas promised him. The lizard was likely not entirely reassured, but he kept quiet and marched into the half-built facility like everyone else.

_Suppose we have to lie to them, _Melanie thought. With some exceptions, they usually did treat prisoners well... but there were some big exceptions. Several thousand prisoners were massacred when Los Angeles was liberated and the soldiers saw with their own eyes what the residents had endured. Many other massacres occurred, mostly in Ohio where the fighting was at its most brutal.

Several minutes later, food shipments began to pour in. Soldiers were considered to be the first priority, with whatever was left given to the lizards. Melanie managed to obtain two MREs for the day. She used to turn her nose up at them, but compared to some of things she had consumed during the campaign... it was a taste of the gods, to put it in her brother's words.

Melanie sat down with a large groan of relief and released her knapsack onto the ground. Extremely grateful that she did not have guard duty at the moment, she stretched out her aching legs and took full advantage of her leisure time.

She did not even remember falling asleep, but her next conscious memory was staring almost directly at the sun and... something was hitting her. Melanie pushed herself to a sitting position the instant a splash of water hit her face. Coughing, she glared furiously at her brother.

"Don't blame me; it was an accident." Thomas lied with a cheeky grin on his face.

"Whatever you say, you bastard." Melanie groaned, still too exhausted to do anything more than sit up. She wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep... say, for the next month or two. What she never realized beforehand was just how exhausting war could be. "I'm going to kill you, you fucker!"

"Sorry, didn't hear you." Thomas responded, pouring the entire canteen of water on her hair. Melanie's arms swung at him in a futile attempt to teach him a lesson, all the while listening to her brother doubled over in laughter. All she could do was throw dirt at him, which wasn't nearly as satisfying. He spit a couple of times to get the dirt out of his mouth, but nothing more.

Almost in spite of herself, Melanie began to chuckle. It meant that Thomas was still able to crack a smile on occasion, that both of them were, even after everyone that the two of them had gone through. There were many occasions where she felt she might not smile ever again.

"At least it's finally over." Melanie gave a smile, even after everything she had endured. Unlike some of her comrades, she had no intention of staying in the military for the long term. The life didn't suit her independent nature, and she expected that the unit would be disbanded within a few months, possibly within weeks.

"No, it isn't over, not even close." Thomas shook his head. "I wish it was, but... we may have won the war, but what do we do now? Once we're discharged, we're going to be homeless, probably having to take charity from refugee camps. Cleveland's a total ruin and even if it wasn't... I don't think I could go back there with all the memories."

"We'll survive somehow, I promise." She didn't want her brother getting gloomy again, not when their fight for survival was over at long last. It felt like decades since she had been home, with friends and family, where her biggest concern was not getting robbed as she walked home. "I'm not leaving you now."

"At least I don't have to go into combat again; I've had enough to give me nightmares for the rest of my life." Thomas' dreams were much more intense than her own, and every night, he woke at least a couple people with his shrieks. Nobody ragged on him, though; it wasn't like he was the only one. "Just... how do I fit in anymore? All the memories I have... they're of a whole different person."

XXXXXXXXXX

December 23, 1983:

_ So I'm really going home, _Andrei thought. Almost all of his papers had already been gathered up. Much as he would have liked to do it himself, practicality forced him to rely on his junior officers to do so; he cursed his physical weakness. Even though he had been in such a shape for thirty years, it was still difficult for him to live with.

Their transport was expected to arrive in a matter of minutes. _Hard to believe I'll actually... miss this place a little. _For a few days after the surrender, Andrei was still ordered to stay in Iceland, while they made sure every member of the Race followed their orders. Those who were not already dead were pathetically eager to give up. They had long since figured out that the war could not be won, only fighting on because they were ordered to do it.

Even though he had not seen Russia for some time, Andrei still made sure to keep up on the domestic situation. While they had suffered heavily, the devastation was nonetheless trivial compared to the Great Patriotic War. _Ironic how in spite of being invaders, the lizards treated us better than we often treat one another. _Relatively few civilians had been killed, perhaps as few as 10% of their deaths.

Therefore, it was considered only fitting that the Race prisoners, at least ones that were not too injured to do so, would help repair the damage that the major human powers had suffered. Many were expecting resistance, but the Race's spirit appeared to be completely broken. They went on with their work, no matter how dangerous it might have been.

Personally, Andrei had expected protests from NATO and especially the United States on how the Race males were being treated. Instead, what few complaints there were happened to be half-hearted. If anything, the Americans were even angrier at the Race, as they had likely suffered the most. Some of the photos he had witnesses were eerily similar to ones of Leningrad.

_Fortunately, it appears that we will not be going back to hating one another, at least not immediately. _Andrei was not naive enough to think that this would be a permanent condition; aliens or not, humanity's hatreds and fault lines were with one another. For now, all the major powers were cooperating with each other, at least in most respects. Only some in the Middle East continued to fight.

The Cold War was also coming to an end. Both the Americans and the Soviets were drawing their troops out of Europe. There was talk of Germany being reunited, of Eastern Europe regaining its independence. Reagan and Gorbachev were both proclaiming a new era of detente and cooperation.

The truth was somewhat more complicated than that. The Soviet Union had been all but bankrupted by the war, and could no longer go on spending on their military as it had. They did not have sufficient strength to hold onto Eastern Europe. Yes, they were still delaying it, causing some isolated guerilla action from former Warsaw Pact members, but Andrei knew that it was simply delaying the inevitable.

Making matters worse, they could not even afford to replace their strategic stockpile that the lizards had largely destroyed. It was estimated that it would take twenty years to fully rebuild it, and indeed, under current circumstances, they were unable to maintain what little they still had. Treaties were being put in place to reduce warheads of both superpowers.

"All the same, there seem to be at least a few positive outcomes from the Race's arrival." Andrei said to himself once all his subordinates were out of the room. "We don't have to worry about mutual annihilation for the moments." Far fewer Soviets than Americans believed in the concept of Mutually Assured Destruction, but all the same, a nuclear war was nevertheless something to be avoided at all costs. Only the most fanatic would consider it a viable option.

Andrei hobbled outside to catch his plane, dressing as warmly as he can. Not all the damage had been undone. While the nuclear exchange had not caused much damage, the constant asteroid impacts had, particularly the one that slammed into southern Algeria. The weather was unusually cold, although there were no reliable estimates for just how much debris was blown into the stratosphere.

"General!" He heard a voice behind him. It was Robinson, who was jogging to meet up with him.

"I was about to leave; what do you need?" Andrei asked politely. While they would likely never be allies, the two superpowers were at least no longer enemies.

"I just wanted to wish you good luck." Robinson admitted. "I confess, I was against your posting at first. Now, however... I've learned quite a lot from both you and your subordinates."

"Surprisingly, so did I." Andrei nodded. He was sure some of what he'd learned was from spies, but he believed that his opposite number was mostly genuine. "It was the first time I had truly gotten a close look at our opponents... former opponents, I mean."

"It is strange, knowing that we're scaling down, not preparing to resume the Cold War." Robinson agreed. "Our problems are far from over, however."

"If you mean the colonization fleet on the way, I do not intend to concern myself with it just yet." Andrei replied. For one thing, he would likely be dead by the time the colonists arrived. In addition, every captive male insisted that they were unarmed, expecting a pacified world waiting for them. "The Race members we have are quite enough trouble."

"Agreed; at least they're making themselves useful." Robinson made a small smile. "And we have twenty years to decide what exactly we're going to do with them."

"I believe that once their colonists arrive, we simply send them home, and warn them never to enter Earth's system again." Andrei remarked. To him, it seemed like the most viable option. Most were unwilling to simply kill them outright, blow the colonization fleet to bits.

"We'll be ready for them," Robinson promised. "And I believe we should keep this... current state of affairs around. Now that we know that we are not alone in this galaxy, we cannot continue fighting amongst ourselves."

_But we will, I promise you that. _Andrei thought. It was possible to keep peace, at least among the major powers, for as long as the lizards were still on Earth. Once they left, it wouldn't last very long. "Almost like a science fiction novel, is it not?" He said out loud. If the United States did not see that long-term peace was impossible, they would find out for themselves soon enough. He reached out to shake Robinson's hand. "So long, General."

"I'll see you around, Comrade." Robinson gave a small nod of respect, using the term sincerely rather than the mocking tone Andrei had become accustomed to.

_Life is full of surprises, _Andrei thought, heading to his plane. That being said, he was not sorry to be leaving. The Soviet Union was still his home.

Once the plane began to take off, he started mentally contemplating plans for the future. Even though it was considered unlikely that the colonization fleet would be willing or capable of fighting, he still considered it prudent to prepare for such a scenario. With perhaps 100 million of them, nearly five times the size of the conquest fleet, they could provide a great challenge.

Fortunately, they were already beginning to reverse-engineer lizard technology. It would allow the Soviet Union to take great leaps forward, with both military and civilian applications. _I wonder what the world will look like in twenty years. _Not that he was likely to see it, but he couldn't help but be curious.

XXXXXXXXXX

December 27, 1983:

"Are you sure about this?" Reuven's boss, Omar Bachman asked of him.

"Yes, I've given it some careful thought, and I believe it's the right decision." Reuven was tired of war, tired of missions, and decided to resign from the Mossad. They would always be important to him, but he realized that his life wouldn't last forever, and wanted to do something with it besides fight.

"All right, although I was hoping to talk you out of it." Bachman told him. "You're a skilled agent, Russie, and I hate to lose you." He reached out and shook Reuven's hand firmly. "Good luck; I hope you succeed in whatever it is you plan on doing.

"Thank you, sir; it's been an honor to serve." Reuven smiled, gave him one last salute, and walked out of his office. Fortunately, he had managed to secure a pension for himself as well. He'd never be rich, but he wouldn't starve.

_Now what do I do? _Reuven thought to himself. For a brief moment, he considered walking back in and cancelling his resignation. Bachman would gladly hire him back, and being a soldier and later an agent was all he really knew. Until recently, he had not given much thought as to what else he wanted to do with his life. He just understood that he wanted to take some time for himself, to do what he enjoyed.

"Maybe I can even start a family; father would love that." Reuven chuckled. David had always been disappointed that he never had any grandchildren to spoil, having never had children of his own. "It's not too late to change that."

He walked through Jerusalem, noticing that some of the buildings under reconstruction were being assisted by lizard prisoners. It was technically against the Geneva Convention, but after what the world had just gone through, most were not inclined to be merciful. That would probably change as time went on, but for now, the wounds were simply too fresh.

Only a few guards were standing watch. An advantage they had is that unlike human prisoners, the Race simply did what they were told without question, instead of making any attempts to escape. Those that were there... Reuven had been told their main job was to protect the prisoners against any reprisals. There were few in Israel who had not lost a relative or a friend, and so tempers were running high.

Reuven shivered; it was an unusually cold day. He wasn't sure if it was natural or some form of nuclear winter as a result from both the nuclear exchange and the asteroids, especially the large one that had landed in southern Algeria. _Never mind; you're trying to enjoy what life has to offer, not muse on everything you've lost. _Not thinking about the war was proving especially difficult.

He headed back to his father's apartment. Reuven had been hoping to get his own, but rent was very expensive in the city, and he didn't wish to move out of Jerusalem if it wasn't strictly necessary. When he opened the door, he heard David Goldfarb snoring on the couch. Walking quietly, he sat down in the opposing chair.

That is, until he heard fireworks go off. Reuven immediately dropped to the floor and drew his weapon, making himself as small a target as could be expected. "Damn reflexes," He cursed, shaking his head. They had been honed in many firefights, and had saved his life dozens of times, but it wasn't nearly as useful in the civilian world. Nor was he likely to be the only one; firecrackers could sound like gunshots to those who had been trained to dive for cover the instant a loud noise was heard.

He took a few deep breaths and pushed himself to his feet. Loud as they were, they had not woken David. The surrender had taken place nearly two weeks ago, but some people were still celebrating. When Reuven had received the news, he must have received kisses from... half a dozen women at least, considering how overjoyed everyone was.

Not knowing what else to do, he continued to sit, lost in his thoughts. More fireworks were shot off, but while his heart jumped, Reuven restrained himself from letting old reflexes take over as he had the first time. _"They can take the soldier out of the trenches, but they can't take the trenches out of the solider." _David had told him that once as a child, which appeared to be true.

"When... when did you get here?" Goldfarb asked, yawning widely. He wiped his eyes briefly, then got off the couch and stretched for a few moments.

"I resigned from the Mossad." Reuven told him simply. Even though he was in his mid 40's, Goldfarb could often make him feel like a child.

"Ok, why?" Goldfarb inquired.

"I just want to do something with my life that doesn't involve going behind enemy lines." Reuven shrugged. "I'm not getting any younger, and it occurred to me that I've missed out on a lot. Most men my age have families."

"See, I told you that you'd want a wife and children one day." Goldfarb chuckled. "And you didn't believe me when I said so."

"Ok, ok, you were right." Reuven raised his hands in surrender. "They weren't happy about it, but they accepted my resignation. I want a wife and children, but... I don't know what kind of world they'll grow up in. It's going to take a decade to get back to the way things were and then what?" The brief flashbacks of his childhood in Poland hit him once again.

"Son, one thing we've always been terrible at is predicting the future." Goldfarb smiled wisely. "There will never be a perfect time to fall in love or to have children. You've got to decide that for yourself."

"I suppose I can start looking, at least try to go on the occasional date." Reuven nodded. "I've got at least one common topic with everyone: wondering what's going to happen next." He knew some wheels were in motion, though he couldn't share the details with his adoptive father.

"Things actually seem to be going well." Goldfarb smiled. "The Cold War is all but over, most are making a commitment to peace, and some of the Lizard technology should allow us to make great breakthroughs in medicine."

"I hope you're right," Reuven replied, not wanting an argument. He had always been much more cynical than Goldfarb. Most were preaching peace now, but he had serious doubts as to whether or not it would really last. For all the talk of humanity supposedly seeing themselves as one people, many of the nations were already moving to be as influential as they could in the post-war world.

"Meaning you don't believe me," Goldfarb nodded. "Well, you're entitled to your opinion."

"I think I can say that... it'll be an interesting two decades." Reuven thought out loud. "We've still got between eighty and one hundred million colonists on the way. They'll be in for one hell of a surprise." He still worried about the human powers deciding to simply kill them all instead of letting them settle or simply seeing them turn back.

"That's in close to twenty years." Goldfarb shrugged. "A lot can happen between now and then. Maybe in the future, Tosevites and the Race can even become allies. Stranger things have happened."

"I wish I could share your optimism." Reuven admitted. There was plenty that could go right, but also a lot that could go wrong. His father was right, though: no one could really know what things would be like in another generation. _But that's for another time, _Reuven thought.

XXXXXXXXXX

Well, thank you to everyone who has read and followed the story from its inception to completion. I must admit, this went in a considerably different direction than I had originally planned. I suppose that isn't uncommon among authors, however.

As to a possible sequel... I haven't made up my mind just yet on that. I have numerous other projects I'm working on, so if I do come up with a sequel, I wouldn't expect it to be for some time.

If anyone is interested, though, I'm going to start posting a revised version of Worldwar: Clash of Empires on . It'll be taking into account the criticisms and suggestions that I was given over the course of this story.


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